


Nobody Knows Where You Are Living

by xmasmurdereve



Category: Isadale, The J
Genre: Angst, Incest, M/M, gomen I just thought I should warn yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 20:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13131675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xmasmurdereve/pseuds/xmasmurdereve
Summary: After the tragic death of his parents, Isadore Hastor fled from home, leaving his older brother and younger sister behind. After years of absence, his new job might lead Isadore to the reunion he so desperately dreads and craves for.Set in a mostly inaccurate (bc I was too lazy to fact-check) version of the UK in the early 1900s.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the coolest cat in the universe](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the+coolest+cat+in+the+universe).



> 2017 was set from the very beginning to be the year of the Isadale. I hope this fic blesses whatever time period you read it in.

The golden trees rushing by the window on the train flowed together as one solid blur, flooding the world with life and color while simultaneously serving as a sign of change, a forewarning of harsher times to come. Isadore watched the colorful blotches of leaves, filling his vision like brush strokes, painting a picture he wasn’t sure he wanted to see. The speeding landscapes were the best thing to keep his mind occupied for the time being, however, so he didn’t move his eyes from the scenery for the entirety of his trip.

It hadn’t been long since he’d received the news that he’d been hired as an accountant in a small southern town, a job he’d applied for as an impulse, not out of practical necessity but from a need deep within his heart, one he preferred not to think of at the moment. Either way, he’d figured that it would’ve be the end of the story as soon as his application had been submitted – he’d tried, and that was as far as he’d ever land. His hands were still shaking from getting his acceptance letter a few months later, and his heart was beating as fast as the trees kept on passing by his window.

The rails swerved around a massive lake, which reflected the autumn landscape in its calm, imposing surface, making the whole scene glow twice as hard. They should be arriving at the station soon. Isadore held on to his suitcase with anxious, trembling hands. He breathed in, trying to get his shoulders to relax, but they remained as tense as when he’d started his journey.

The man who greeted him upon his arrival was a lot more cheerful than Isadore had originally pictured him – and a lot shorter too, he had to admit. Isadore tried his best to reciprocate the man’s smile as he approached him, hoping it was natural enough to fool others into thinking he had any idea of what he was doing.

“Hello!” Isadore said, cringing on the inside at how dumb his own voice sounded. “I take it that you are Mr. Buggs?”

“That would be me, yes”, smiled the man. “And you must be Mr. -”

“Please”, Isadore interrupted, “just call me Isadore.”

“Oh! Well, in that case, you can call me Jacob!” Exclaimed Mr. Buggs. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Thank you for reaching out in the first place”, replied Isadore, trying to strike the perfect mix between polite and grateful, or any other combination of feelings that could hide how terrified he was. Either way, he really had made all the arrangements to move to that small town as soon as possible, afraid that even a second of hesitation would lead him to change his mind. It was best not to think about it too hard. It was best not to think at all.

“Nonsense, you were the best candidate by far!” Jacob grinned. “Come on, let’s get you settled.”

Isadore followed the man through town, though there wasn’t all that much to be seen. The cobblestone streets were crawling with dried-out leaves blowing with the wind, and a warm glow emanated from a few of the houses, lighting up the view as the sun started to set, filling the sky with a blazing orange.

Isadore had grown used to the busy roads of London, so seeing such a limited amount of people outside was a touch disquieting. He doubted the local population could even come close to reaching four digits. A few passersby waved at the two, and Jacob seemed to know all of them. Isadore couldn’t help but notice how many continued to stare even after they’d walked past them. Even though he was a newcomer, it would be impossible to remain a stranger forever. He couldn’t tell if he wanted that to happen or not.

There was comfort in anonymity, in coming and going without being noticed. He almost relied on it, to a certain extent. He knew it was a habit he’d have to drop when he decided to move in to such a small town, for reasons that went beyond simple social dynamics, but at this point he’d spent so long being an outsider he wondered if he could relearn to be anything but.

The job itself wouldn’t require him to interact with that many people – he just had to manage a few business aspects relating to Jacob’s town assets, mostly the building complex he owned; the man was apparently responsible for an entire block’s worth of houses, renting it to a series of tenants, which, judging by the size of the town, was no small feat. In fact, as far as Isadore knew, Jacob’s main trades lied within outside the village’s boarders, so much so that he’d only be dealing with a mere fraction of the man’s total possessions.

In summary, it was a simple job, or at least much less complex than what could’ve been handed to him or what he was used to dealing with, at least on the surface. In many ways, it was exactly what he was looking for – something uncomplicated, a task to keep himself busy with; a future that smiled upon him, or that would at least allow him to carry on.

On the other hand, however, he knew he had a better chance at finding it anywhere but on that small town. Which just so happened to be the reason why he’d chosen to move there on the first place.

And as he walked down the street towards his new residence, he realized it had been foolish of him to think he could ever live in peace.

Jacob opened the door to a small stoned house, guiding Isadore towards the second floor. He was shown to a simple office, adjacent to a one-bedroom apartment – the same place the previous accountant apparently used to live in. Jacob told him he was free to move anywhere else in town if he found it more suiting, but Isadore assured him that it was more than enough for him. He had a hard time articulating those words, however, just as he was having difficulty breathing in general. He wondered if fainting on your arrival at a new job could result in his instant termination.

 “I’ll let you get settled for now, then. We’ll talk more in the morning”, said Mr. Buggs, exiting the room. “By the way, I’ll be hosting a gathering of sorts back at my estate, and we’d all be thrilled if you were to come!” He smiled. “I’ll give you the details later. See you tomorrow!” 

Isadore waved him off absent-mindedly, standing in that same position for several minutes after the man was gone. His suitcase dropped to the floor as his fingers went numb, making him realize he’d been holding on to it until that point. Still, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t tell if he was breathing too fast, or too slow, or even breathing at all. There was nothing wrong with his vision, but he couldn’t see a thing.

In his mind, a single image took up his entire spirit, completely obliterating his capacity to think of anything else: a small bronze plate, glowing against the fiery sunset, set on the house right across the street from where he now stood. The one thing that had made him accept this new job, and that he wished to avoid at all costs; and yet, it was what he craved the most for.

Engraved on that plate, several letters popped out, forming the most terrifying set of words Isadore had ever read:

“Dr. Hastor, General Physician”

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

For all intents and purposes, the fact was that Isadore was not a people person. 

He was polite enough, and as sociable as the situation required him to be, but that did not mean he enjoyed it. If it depended on him, he’d stay home as much as possible, enjoying the world from the comfort of his room. He only really liked interacting with those he already had a close connection with, which unfortunately described none of the people at Mr. Buggs’ party.

If he could pick, he would’ve chosen not to go. However, everyone in town seemed to be dying to meet him, just as much as Jacob was eager to show him off. Apparently that city was small enough for the arrival of a stranger to be regarded as huge news, turning Isadore into some sort of local celebrity. He knew it was temporary – in fact, he counted on it – but it still meant playing along for now. He wouldn’t want to start off with the wrong foot, burning bridges before he’d even had a chance to build them.

Still, he was far from comfortable. The mere thought of having to attend such a gathering had been tormenting him all week, and a few hours before he had to leave home his anxiety had gotten so bad he feared he might throw up. He hadn’t done much socializing during the time he’d spent on town so far, and if he hadn’t been asked to come, he wasn’t about to start talking to people now. He had no idea of what the social codes for that situation were, and dreaded the fact that he had to learn them.

The Buggs’ manor lied on top of a hill a little isolated from the rest of the village, overlooking the lake Isadore had passed by on his journey to his new job. He arrived at a time he hoped wouldn’t be seen as neither too early, nor too late. Plenty of people seemed to have gotten there already when he showed up, but then again he didn’t know how many more were expected. In fact, most of the people circulating through the hall didn’t even seem like they’d come from town. Either way, Jacob seemed thrilled to see him, and quickly started introducing him to the rest.

This is what Isadore had been doing ever since he arrived. He had no idea of how much time had actually passed, but he’d already met more faces than he could remember, although there seemed to be twice as many still left to meet. At first he tried to remember everyone’s name, but after the third or fourth conversation group he realized they were starting to mash together in his memory, and soon he could recall little else but a series of identical clones, an indiscernible mixture of surnames and overused small talk lines.

Not that he minded it all that much. At least people seemed to be interested in him, to a point where he had to do little else but show up and hang around. It was better than standing alone in a corner all night, he figured, even if he currently felt just as isolated. Being dragged around by Jacob also meant he didn’t have to worry about approaching people on his own. 

He had a glass of whiskey on his hand, despite having promised himself he wouldn’t drink. He didn’t even remember picking it up; it’d just materialized itself automatically into his possession. Maybe someone had handed it to him. Everyone else seemed to be drinking anyway.

He currently found himself talking to two ladies, whose names he’d already forgotten. One had a fancy cocktail glass in her hand, while the other seemed to have gone for some sort of champagne-like beverage. They both grinned as they talked, and Isadore smiled back as he nodded, though he’d stopped listening a while ago. Perhaps it’d be a good time to try and join the conversation again, though he never had much to say.

“And how’s your boy doing, Jake?” asked the champagne lady with a carefree smirk.

“Girl, actually”, corrected Jacob. “She should be down any minute now, she’s just gone upstairs for a bit!”

“Of course”, said the lady. “Oh, she must be so pretty now, I haven’t seen her in ages!”

“They grow up so fast, don’t they?” commented the second lady, carelessly touching the first one’s arm. They both laughed. Isadore smiled vaguely along. She took a sip from her glass, and turned to him. “Do you have any children, Isadore?" 

“What?” answered Isadore, taking a second to remember he was actually a part of their chatting. “Oh, no. It’s just…” He lifted his glass, as a sort of apologetic toast. “Just me, for now.”

“Well, there’s still time!” Said the lady. “I’m sure you’ll settle down soon. Plenty of eligible girls in this town, after all!” They all laughed again. Isadore sipped his drink.

 “Oh, but please don’t wait too long”, said the first lady, suddenly shifting into a much more lamenting tone, her grin slowly fading. “The kid before you, the poor thing – he was just as young, and didn’t even have the chance to find their special someone…” 

“You’re right”, said the other lady. “Such a shame.”

 “Real tragedy”, Mr. Buggs nodded along.

Isadore stood still, having no idea of why the mood had shifted so suddenly. This was apparently a moment to show sympathy, or pity, but he had no idea what he was supposed to be sad over. Should he pretend to know? Should he ask? Was it time to change the subject? Move to another conversation circle? Move to a different town altogether?

The cocktail lady noticed his confusion. “No one told you this story already?” Isadore shook his head. “Oh, dear. The accountant before you, he was found dead.” The other two nodded solemnly. “Hanging from a lamppost near his apartment, not too long ago.” Isadore felt his hands start to grow numb. “He was about your age, I believe. I didn’t personally know him that well, but I can’t help but feel sad whenever I think of it. He had his whole future ahead of him, you know.” Black spots filled his vision. He was too dizzy to respond.

“The police have yet to reach a conclusion, from what I’ve heard”, said the other lady. “The whole uncertainty of it is so unnerving, nobody saw it coming!”

 “Really makes you think, doesn’t it?” the first lady continued. “It only goes to show you should live life to the fullest.” She turned back at Isadore. “Don’t you go wasting too much time at work, you hear me?” She grinned playfully at him. He tried to do the same, but couldn’t seem to focus. “Honestly, you kids need to enjoy the opportunities you are given. Work too hard and you’ll stay a bachelor forever!”

“Speaking of which”, said the second lady, casually touching her friend’s shoulder, casting a glance to her side. They turned to the figure walking past them, calling his attention. The man stood taller than most of the surrounding guests, his short jet-black hair outlining his pale face with the softness of a woolen sweater, contrasting with his sharp formal suit. A single mole adorned his left cheek; his hands carried no glasses, and his face showed no smile, but it still came off as socially adequate.

Isadore felt close to fainting.

“Doctor Hastor!” exclaimed the champagne lady. “Have you met the new accountant?”

The doctor gave Isadore a cold, impenetrable stare. His back stood perfectly straight, giving him a clear, authoritative stance, which transmitted the same power to his voice as he said “No, I don’t believe I have.”

“He arrived in town a couple of weeks ago!” Continued the lady. “He’s just getting acquainted with the rest of the folks.”

Isadore summoned all the courage he still had left, uttering a simple “It’s a pleasure to meet you”, feeling absolutely hollow as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Likewise”, replied the doctor, with no shift whatsoever to his posture. Isadore couldn’t feel his own limbs.

“How’s that little sister of yours doing?” asked the other lady. “We were just talking about how fast they seem to grow… She’s practically a woman now, isn’t she?”

“Yes”, answered the doctor, “I’d say she is. She’s doing fine, thank you for asking.” The ladies smiled. Isadore remained frozen. “Now, if you’ll excuse me”, said the man with a cordial head gesture, retreating back into the crowd.

As the ones around him carried on with their idle chitchat, Isadore felt the weight of the entire universe pressing heavily against his chest, suffocating him. 

He chugged down the contents of his glass in a single swig.

 


	3. Chapter 3

A faint light poured from the kitchen window, shining upon Dale’s thousand-yard stare. He had his eyes turned to the glass, making it look like he was watching the world outside, but Joan knew better. She’d seen that same look on his face far too many times to count; and even if she hadn’t, the fact that the tea on Dale’s cup had grown cold after remaining untouched from the moment it’d been poured, as well as how he hadn’t moved ever since he started staring out the window, should serve as enough proof that something was off. 

She sat directly in front of him, by the small table in the kitchen where they shared breakfast, and other meals when Dale’s schedule didn’t make him come home too late. The window on the wall next to them was roughly as large as the table, but it was enough to light up the entire room, for the kitchen itself wasn’t all that big either. In fact, neither was the house in general.

Joan preferred it that way. The larger rooms were located downstairs, and Dale had transformed them into his waiting room, where the staircase also lied, and the office where he saw his patients. Their living space was located on the second floor, divided into the kitchen, a bathroom, and two bedrooms – Joan’s being so small she wondered if it was actually intended to be a utility closet, but she actually appreciated it. She found that she and her brother didn’t need much else, especially considering how much their family had downsized over the years.

She liked the idea of closeness their home brought her. It made her feel as if Dale was never far from reach, even more so with how his workspace also lied close. Still, she understood that proximity didn’t depend on physical distance – she’d be equally close to her brother if they lived in a mansion, and a cramped apartment would not magically fix their relationship if they ever grew apart. However, it didn’t stop her from loving their cozy little place. It was safe, and it was theirs, and Joan practically equated it with her concept of family.

On that morning, however, Dale remained a million miles away, and that fact would remain the same even if their kitchen were to shrink to a fraction of its already reduced size.

“Are you ok?”, she asked, trying not to sound too skeptical. Even though she already had a strong idea of how the conversation would carry on, she should at least give her brother the benefit of the doubt.

“Hm?” Dale blinked and turned to her. “Ah, yes. I’m fine”.

“You look worried.”

“It’s nothing”, he said, looking down at his teacup, without drinking from it. “Flu season is about to start. It’s a rather busy time of the year.” He sighed, returning his attention to the window. “I’m just a little worried, is all." 

“I suppose it can be stressful”, she said, sipping her tea.

Dale stared at the world beyond the glass without seeing a single thing from it. Joan watched his face, trying not to be too obvious about it – but figured that even if she had been, he probably wouldn’t even have noticed. His heavy eyelids covered half of his vision, and a small wrinkle made itself present between his eyebrows, making him look progressively less contemplative and more anxious.

“Don’t let it get to you”, he said after a long pause. His voice sounded focused and serious, making the comment come off as not just a continuation of their small talk, but as an actual piece of advice, and Joan had heard that tone too many times to doubt the gravity of its intent.

She excused herself from the table, carefully putting her dishes in the sink and making her way to her bedroom. What little space was left aside from the bed was covered by a wardrobe and a few bookshelves, filled with so many novels she’d ran out of space on the board and started stacking the books lying horizontally on top of the rest.

She knelt in front of the second drawer closest to the floor and opened it, pushing aside a heap of sweaters to reveal a piece of paper. She retrieved it from the pile and threw herself onto her bed, cluttered with a stack of stuffed animals, which embraced her impact.

Joan stared at the photograph in her hands. She was too young in it to remember the moment it’d been taken, being merely a toddler sitting on her brother’s lap. Dale, however, didn’t look all that different from his present self – current Dale was clearly older, and a little more tired, but his smile remained equally comforting, and his eyes still carried the same caring look to them. 

It was the third member of the picture, however, that really captured her interest. He had his hands over both her shoulder and Dale’s, standing directly behind them. The blonde shade of his hair differed from the darkened tone carried by the other two, and his coat had a considerably more vibrant hue than the rest, immediately driving the eye to his corner of the image.

Joan had stared at the man so much she had his traces completely memorized by that point. Still, she took her time admiring it, absorbing every detail, as if she could otherwise miss out on some crucial piece of information that rendered her previous impressions useless. However, everything remained just as she remembered – the slight bump on his nose, the mole on his right cheek, his soft eyebrows, how his shoulders looked a bit tense, but also how the grip on her and Dale’s shoulder still came off as loving, as if he were both sheltering them but also clinging onto them for support.

And then, there was his smile. Joan had always found it amusing how serious her own face looked, despite her being just a child, and therefore expected to carry a much softer expression. Maybe the same could be said about her to this very day. Dale’s grin, on the other hand, was just as polite as the situation required. As for the other boy, however, he was almost _laughing._  

Joan didn’t quite know what to make of it. Was it an uncomfortable laugh, coming from the same source of awkwardness that made his posture look so anxious? Was it sincere laughter, based on the same sense of comfort the picture seemed to bring her? Was he so good at faking carelessness that he’d managed to make her consider the latter possibility to be true, when in reality it was the former?

She couldn’t tell.

What she felt confident enough to say, however, was that his cheerful expression and overall vibrant disposition made him practically leap out of the picture, filling her heart with a glowing sense of warmth, just like any other times she thought of that same person; who, in the end, was none other than her second brother, Isadore Hastor. 

Her actual memories of him were rather hazy; he’d disappeared from her life around the same time that photograph had been taken, meaning that what little recollections she was able to keep are more based on impressions and feelings rather than actual events – random puzzle pieces that only allow for a vague reconstruction of what the complete image might’ve looked like, leaving her with an insatiable wish to fill in those gaps. 

She cherished those memories immensely, just like whatever other bits and stories she could gather. Dale had caught her staring at that picture so many times he eventually just removed it from the photo album and gave it to her. To Joan, it was more precious than any family heirloom. There were other photographs of Isadore, but that one turned out to be the only one where the three siblings were together. It was different looking at the rest of his portraits; other than what he looked like all those years ago, it was as if the pictures didn’t convey nearly as much information on who he was as a person than when he was in the same frame as Dale and her. She’d tried to connect the boy in the photographs to the figure from her memories, but she couldn’t recall all that much about him to begin with – what had really remained was the gap he’d left, one so huge it made her sure he must’ve been a fantastic person in order to leave such an impact. What she did remember, however, was that her brother used to smile just as lively in real life as well, even if now she found herself also questioning the true nature of those past smiles.

She remembered a time where she searched for him – or, at least, when she was lead along by Dale as he did so. She remembered visiting other small towns, and even living in them for a while, before moving on to the next one, until they eventually settled down on the one where they currently resided. She remembered traveling with Dale to London a few times, but it still brought no results.

She remembered how determined Dale was to find Isadore, and how that seemed to remain a constant from their very first trip to search for him, which made it all the more shocking when one day she realized they’d just stopped doing it. In a way, it was only natural – Dale had his own office now, and grew more and more busy as the years went by – but it didn’t actually feel like healing.

Missing Isadore was different than missing her parents. Both had disappeared from her life at around the same time, with little less than a year separating the day they’d died from when her brother later came to leave; however, Dale had always been very willing to talk about the first, even when it came to things Joan herself didn’t want to face, but he almost never opened up about the second.

She’d had to learn how to get Dale to talk about Isadore, an art that took years to perfect. Simply asking about him would yield no results – Dale would either tell her not to worry, or be so vague about it no new information could be gathered from it. She had to wait for him to be in a specific mood, neither too happy nor too sad, somewhat concerned over work issues, leaving him distracted but not too stressed out about it; she found it was best to bring up the subject after the sun had set, and only when they were at home.

She’d always ask for a story. Sometimes, she’d start off by asking Dale to tell her one she’d already heard, just to test whether or not it was a good moment to get him talking. Usually, she’d follow it with a request for a new one, but other times she simply wanted to hear her brother tell it again.

When she was successful, she’d get a simple anecdote on something Isadore had done, or a good time the three of them had spent together. She’d watch as Dale’s gaze grew more and more distant, just as his face was slowly taken by a warm smile, and his voice got more carefree as he became lost in his own words. He’d tell her of how good Isadore was with her, and how much he enjoyed looking after her, and how sometimes he was the only one who could make her stop crying; how the two of them often played together, and how Isadore had become completely captivated by her from day one, spending as much time with her as he could. She’d hear about how clever her brother was, or how he was able to turn things for the better even when there seemed to be no way out, and how willing he was to learn and make up for his mistakes.

However, at some point, Dale would always stop himself. His stare would become twice as distant, losing the air of nostalgia it previously carried, becoming a lot more wistful, changing his whole posture into a cold, pensive state. He’d remain silent for a few moments, almost as if he regretted saying anything at all, and his voice sounded harsh and heavy as he’d break the silence by remarking “it’s best if you don’t miss him”. After he’d gone through that sudden change, it’d be weeks, if not months, before Joan would manage to get any information out of him again.

It was that same stare which ruled his face that morning, and that same serious tone telling her not to worry. Joan didn’t need much else to understand Dale was thinking of Isadore, just how it was obvious to her that this behavior had started ever since the new accountant had arrived in town.

It didn’t take long for her to establish a connection between her brother and the newcomer. News travel fast, especially at a small town, and even more so when one is friends with a detective wannabe who constantly provided updates on the ins and outs of the limited population, which just so happened to be the case with Joan. Either way, if the accountant’s name alone wasn’t enough to raise some degree of suspicion, one quick glimpse at his figure made it clear that it was the same person as the one in her picture, only aged about a decade.

At first, she hoped Dale would do something about the situation, but he had yet to acknowledge the arrival of this stranger in town, let alone dive into the family subject. She didn’t know how much longer it’d take him, but seeing how every other instance where he talked about Isadore had been initiated by Joan, she didn’t think that anything would change soon. 

She looked back at the portrait, again trying to connect the man in the picture to the one she’d seen across town, wondering how much had changed. She thought back to the stories she knew, and how much she valued every single one of them. She could no longer tell which memories of him were real, and which had been crafted from all the impressions of him she’d gathered along the years, and how much any of that would differ from reality.

She touched the area of the picture where Isadore’s hand lied on her shoulder, looking at how he kept on smiling even though his posture seemed tense. No matter how good the photograph made her feel, she still felt bitter over how she couldn’t tell what kind of smile that was, and how she could twist its meaning to match whatever stories she felt best reflected the kind of person her brother could be.

She envied Dale for having enough memories of Isadore to be able to share his past endeavors, while she had to wait for the right moment to learn anything new. Having Dale hide things from her like that just made her feel she was somehow less entitled to miss Isadore, despite the pain still being there. Pretending the gap didn’t exist wouldn’t make it go away – it hadn’t worked thus far, and wouldn’t start working in the future. Most of all, she knew Dale felt the same, just as she knew that each “it’s best if you don’t miss him” carried an unsaid continuation of “as much as I do”. 

If past experience had taught her anything, it was that she would have to take the initiative herself.

Maybe then she’d have more photographs to look at.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The glow from a nearby street light reflected upon the lenses of Linus’ glasses as he looked up, turning his head to the street where Joan should be coming from at any moment. She was taking a bit longer than usual that night, and he was starting to get a little worried – or maybe he was just anxious to see her again, which made each minute drag on for much longer than its actual length. Part of him knew it was really the second option, just as it knew it was silly of him to be this excited, but he just couldn’t help it.

They’d met in a similar fashion several times before, but unlike their previous encounters, this one had been Joan’s suggestion – at least, the first one had been. The current one was more of a follow-up. In fact, the subject of said meeting also originated from her, seeing as she was the one that asked Linus to investigate the matter at hand. Not that he hadn’t already been planning on doing so, but it became even more urgent after his friend’s request.

The arrival of the new accountant had been the talk of the town for weeks now, but it never seemed to go beyond gossip. Of course, it was directly tied to the previous one’s tragic death, to which Linus was still coming up with a few theories of his own, but no one appeared to be particularly interested in exploring the relation between the two men, or whether there was one to begin with. Either way, Linus’ interest was peaked regardless, even more so when Joan started to inquire about the very subject of his curiosity.

He didn’t know at first what could possibly be her objective in knowing more about the newcomer – she’d never cared much for gossip, or eve strangers, for that matter. When she first asked about him, Linus gladly shared with her all the information he had, but she didn’t look satisfied. When asked why she was so invested, she simply shrugged it off, but didn’t back down. She asked him why the man had come to town, and Linus knew the answer she was seeking for went beyond “to work as an accountant”, but he also couldn’t say – except now he had a reason to really look into it.

It took him a few weeks, but he finally felt like he could start to give her the explanation she deserved. There was still a lot to be solved, and not all on the newcomer’s part, but he felt confident enough to share his findings.

More than confident, even. He was downright _thrilled_.

He hid his hands under his arms, not knowing if he was trembling in anticipation or just from the cold. It was an unexpectedly chilly autumn, after all. He thought of how he hoped Joan had put on enough coats before going outside, only to then remember Dale would never let her leave without an extra jacket – so much so that she always seemed to remember bringing one even when sneaking out.

And, just as expected, Linus saw her coming down the darkened street, wearing a warm woolen sweater.

“Miss Hastor”, he smirked, straightening his back as she approached him.

“Mr. Maze”, she responded, holding a rather serious expression in her face for a few moments before snickering. Linus laughed back at her.

“Fancy meeting you here at this hour”, he said.

“Let’s talk business, shall we?” she asked in a playful tone, but Linus could see there was a certain urgency behind it.

“As you wish.” He fixed his glasses. “Everyone is aware of the arrival of one certain Isadore in town two months back, filling in for the then recently-opened position of accountant, given the fate of the previous man working in the aforementioned post.” He walked a few steps forward, only to turn back and pace the same distance on the opposite direction, repeating the motion as he talked. “Now, the death of said man was certainly sudden, but what is also surprising is how quickly Mr. Buggs was able to find a new candidate for the job – granted, he does possess his share of influence, but this particular opening was only for the local division of his assets, which you wouldn’t find very enticing unless you were a local yourself.” He stopped with his back turned to Joan. “Except Isadore _isn’t_ , because the very thing that makes him so enigmatic is how he’d apparently never set foot in this town before being hired. Which does beg the question”, he turned towards the girl, “How did they _find_ this guy?”

“Beats me”, Joan shrugged, but still keeping her eyes fixed onto Linus’.

“One possible explanation could be that he was a resident from one of the nearby villages, who’d heard of the recent opening for an accounting job back in this town, which would explain why he’d go after a position that wouldn’t be very useful to you unless you already lived in the area”, continued the boy. “Except it still doesn’t justify how he was hired so fast, which leads me to conclude that he’d already applied for the position even before the previous accountant got murdered.”

“And had he?”

“Now this”, he said, turning dramatically at Joan, his lenses reflecting the light from the lamppost for a split second, “is where things start to get interesting.”

Joan blinked.

“I couldn’t keep on basing my conclusions solely on assumptions”, said Linus, “so I moved on to a more drastic approach.” He turned his back at Joan. “I broke into Mr. Buggs’ office.”

Joan gasped softly.

“To be fair, it wasn’t all that hard”, he said, smiling back at her. “I mean, the guy barely spends any time in town to begin with. But either way, I was able to locate the files relating to Isadore’s hiring process, as well as his application. Now, he really did send it before the position was open. About three months prior, actually. But I’d already figured that one out”, he shrugged. Joan rolled her eyes. “Anyway”, he continued, “what really struck me about his application was the document enclosed to it – it was a recommendation letter by his previous employer. Isadore used to work for _John Murray_.”

“The publishing house?” asked Joan. 

“Exactly!” Linus turned on his heels. “One of the most prestigious publishers in London! Apparently Isadore used to perform some sort of accounting service for them as well, and was good enough at it to get a _recommendation letter_ from them. Don’t you get it? A guy like that could get any job he wanted after that! Why would he choose to come work here?” He laughed, but quickly winced, realizing how loud he must’ve been talking. Joan’s interest seemed to be peaked, however, so he continued. “Really, a man in his position wouldn’t actively seek out a position he was so clearly overqualified for. Which meant his previous ties with John Murray must’ve ended in a rather unpleasant fashion, if he was so out of options that this town was his best shot at a new opportunity.” 

“But then how could he have a recommendation letter from them?” asked Joan.

“That’s what I thought as well”, said Linus, “so I decided to ask them myself.”

“You… asked them?” She blinked.

Linus nodded. “Wrote them a letter and everything.”

“Why would they answer you, though?”

“Because I sent it under Mr. Buggs name”, shrugged Linus, grinning at the girl. “Used one of his fancy personalized envelopes and all. I mean, I didn’t impersonate him or anything, that’d be too obvious. I simply said I was working under him, and had been tasked with the mission of deciding whether or not Isadore was worth hiring, so I was writing them to see if they could elaborate on how Isadore’s involvement with their company had been terminated. You know, in case I should be worried about anything. All I needed to do was make sure I got my hands on their answer before anyone else did.”

“And did it work?” He could hear the eagerness in her voice, although she did not lose her composure. He couldn’t help but feel his own excitement growing.

“Do you think I would’ve called you here if it hadn’t?” He took out a letter from his pocket, holding it between his index and middle finger. Joan’s stare was almost petrifying. “I thought you should take a look for yourself”, he said as he handed her the envelope.

Joan opened up the paper carefully, holding it with both hands. “Dear Mr. Jackson”, she read out loud, shooting a look at Linus.

He shot the same look back at her. “What, you didn’t expect me to use my real name, did you?” He smiled. “Go on!”

She smirked back. “We appreciate your concern in making sure that your company is made out of nothing but the finest members it could possibly have. However, we must inform you that there’s nothing-” the volume of her voice progressively decreased, becoming but a soft mumble, only for her lips to stop moving altogether. She stared at the letter in her hands for a long moment, only to then turn back at Linus, staring directly into his eyes. “He chose to leave”, she said, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Precisely”, he answered with a grin.

“He could’ve kept working there if he wanted to.”

“Just like he could’ve gotten another job pretty much anywhere”, he nodded. “And yet, he chose to come here.”

Joan stared back at the document in her hands. Linus pushed back his glasses.

“As weird as it sounds, we both must agree that all facts point at Isadore coming to town out of his own volition. While the timing of his application was a bit too convenient, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that he has any relation to the murder of the previous accountant. There just isn’t much pointing at a possible connection between the two gentlemen aside from this unfortunate timeline match.” He stared at Joan, who was still busy rereading the letter. “However, that is not to say Isadore is free of suspicions.”

The girl blinked, looking at Linus for a brief moment, only to return to the paper in hands.

“No one would choose to come to work on this town under normal circumstances, especially when they had such a prestigious position like the man in question. The fact that he’d actively try to get a job here, going as far as moving away from the city, leaves us with two possibilities.” He turned away from his friend, crossing his arms behind his back. “He is either hiding something… or _from_ something.”

Joan said nothing. Linus twirled back, facing her again. Her stare looked a bit less harsh now, but it was still pensive.

“This is what you have concluded?” she asked, looking up at him.

“For now, yes.” He tucked his hands inside his pockets. “It might change as I acquire new information, though.”

She nodded and turned her attention back to the letter, still with the same concerned aspect to her expression.

Linus breathed in. He simply had to ask. It was now or never. “There’s one thing I’d like to ask you, though.” Joan showed no reaction. “The accountant’s last name… Isn’t your surname also Hastor?”

The girl shook her head. “Some people just have the same last names”, she stated, in a voice that showed no hint of emotion. He nodded, a bit more nervously than planned. “Can I keep this?” she held up the letter, looking at him.

“It’s yours if you want it”, he nodded carelessly. “I mean, I wouldn’t have written them in the first place if it wasn’t for you.”

“Oh, as if you weren’t dying to know”, she grinned, folding the envelope between her fingers.

“It’s best when I get to help you in the process”, he smiled back.

She stared right into his eyes, her gaze filled with appreciation. “Thank you”, she said, with a voice that managed to be both soft and heavy at the same time.

He blushed, a little too astonished to do much else. “Stay safe, Jo”, he said, his own words weighted with caring.

“I will”, she said, shooting him one last smile before turning back and heading home. Linus let himself breathe in the cold night air a few more minutes, then did the same as his friend.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JOHN MURRAY IS A REAL LONDON-BASED PUBLISHING HOUSE FROM THAT TIME PERIOD
> 
> HERE'S TO THE ONLY FACT I BOTHERED TO RESEARCH ROFL


	5. Chapter 5

The cobblestone streets glistened under the light of a single lamppost by the corner, filling the night with a flickering glow. Isadore sat on a stoned fence a few houses away, however, so to him it was more of a mere suggestion of radiance instead. He stared at the burning tip of the cigarette between his fingers, thinking about how it gleamed just as red, but was much closer to him, and therefore much more relevant. He watched as the smoke curled up into the sky, gently fading before half a dozen stars scattered around like ashes, surprised that the clouds from the previous afternoon had cleared seemingly out of nowhere.

No one else was still up at that time, which filled him with a sense of comfort, as if one could stand in much more intimate company on their own than if surrounded by others. Being alone like that made him feel a lot less… _alone_. Perhaps it was something about the idea of having the entire world to himself, since no one else was there to seize it. Maybe it was more about how everyone else was too busy sleeping to secretly judge him. Either way, he took a long drag from his cigarette and let the cold silence of the night wash over him. 

He’d never been much of a morning person – at least, not in the way other people seemed to be. Waking up around the same time the sun rose didn’t exactly fill him with enthusiasm, but staying awake long enough to watch the sun rise instead of set before going to bed was a completely different story.

As a kid, however, his parents would never let him stay up past his bedtime, and when they weren’t around it was Dale who made sure their curfew was respected. When he started living on his own, he realized his waking hours seemed to shift later and later into the day, and he found himself getting used to taking a few occasional strolls during the night. His previous job had a very strict schedule, so it was rare that he got the chance to stay up until late, but now his working hours were a lot more flexible – it didn’t matter until when he was up doing the math, as long as he delivered it to the main office on time.

He took another drag, stretching his neck as he stared directly at the sky. It was weird how fast things had changed. Even the seasons seemed to be rushing by that year; or maybe it was just an unusually cold autumn.

It was only then that he noticed the girl.

He’d seen her around town before, mostly walking along with Dale. Looking at them side by side made the resemblance painfully obvious, but even now as she stood alone in the dimly-lit street it was still noticeable. The curved shape of her lips, the slight blush on her pale cheeks, the same thick eyebrows matching the dark shade of her fluffy hair. Each of those details, be it alone or in combination with the rest, left Isadore with no doubt that standing in front of him was his little sister, Joan Hastor.

“…Pretty late for you to be out”, he said, shooting her a smile shaking with uncertainty. 

“Could tell you the same”, she said in response, keeping a neutral expression. She even _sounded_ like him.

Isadore stared at her, hoping he wasn’t coming off as creepy, but failing to look away from her eyes even after enough time had passed to make anyone feel uncomfortable – except for her. Her eyelids were resting slightly, giving a distant yet carefree aspect to her expression. It felt indecipherable, mostly because it wasn’t there to be decoded; it was the face of someone who couldn’t care less about what others thought of them, while still being tactful enough not to come off as exclusively self-centered. Isadore didn’t even have the wits to respond; he was an open book standing next to a locked safe, and he didn’t even want to object being read through by someone like her. Even though he hadn’t seen her since she was a toddler, he felt like he’d always known her, while simultaneously feeling extremely aware of how much of a stranger she was to him.

“I know”, she said, breaking the silence.

“…Know what?”, asked Isadore, a little groundless from the interrupted train of thought.

“I _know_ ”, said Joan, her words carrying a lot more weight to them as they came out of her mouth, even if her expression remained the same.

“…Oh”, Isadore mumbled, shyly looking away. “I suppose Dale couldn’t help but share my past”, he sighed, stopping himself before continuing the sentence with the word “mistakes”.

“Actually, I had to go after the information myself”, said the girl, blinking calmly.

“…How much did you find out?” he asked, trying and failing to read her face from the corner of his eye, knowing she’d be much more successful in doing the same thing to him if she’d tried.

“I know who you are, and that’s all I really wanted to know”, she stated, convinced and unfazed.

Isadore took another drag from his cigarette and stared at the ground. “Does he know you’re here?” He suddenly felt very nervous, as if he were a kid doing something he wasn’t supposed to. The possibility of Dale grounding him felt real enough to make his stomach turn.

“It’s not my first time sneaking out”, she shrugged. “I sometimes meet a friend out at night too.” Her voice had a soft quality to it, almost velvet-like. It had all the clarity of a speech with the same tenderness as a whisper. “I think he’s always known, but he doesn’t say anything.”

“Now that’s unlike him”, Isadore stated snarkily, regretting it immediately after saying it. He didn’t know if she would take his bitterness kindly, and even if she did, he had no right to criticize Dale when he was ten times worse. 

However, Joan smirked. “Tell me about it”, she said, shifting her weight from one leg to another, breaking her straight posture by a centimeter. Isadore chuckled nervously, mesmerized at the tiniest smile that had formed on the girl’s face, changing her expression for the first time since he’d first noticed her standing there. The light from the lamppost formed a faint golden rim around Joan’s hair, creating the illusion that the glow was coming from the girl herself – as if the warmth within her was overflowing through the outline of her figure. “May I sit?” she asked, glancing at the stoned wall.

Isadore gave her a quick nod, shifting to the side, even though there was already plenty of room. She sat next to him, resting her hands on her knees, swinging her feet slightly – her legs were a bit too short for her to touch the ground, something Isadore had no trouble doing, but he somehow felt as if he were the smaller sibling. Everything about Joan felt so effortlessly collected, as if she had already figured out how to live a life that wasn’t ruled by the fear of what other people might be thinking, something Isadore had been attempting to learn ever since he could remember. 

As he stood there next to her, he felt torn between worrying about how hard she was most likely judging him, and the possibility that he was somehow not even worth that effort to her – as if his presence was both too noticeable, and not noticeable at all. He wondered how much she actually knew about him, figuring that if her knowledge extended to anything beyond the fact that they were siblings, then she already had a massive advantage over him.

Whenever he thought of Joan while he was away, he had always seen her as a mystery. All he knew was the stumbling infant he’d left behind, standing before a universe of possibilities that were as fantastic as they were impossible to calculate. He took his inability to picture her as a good sign, because while he was still with her all he could think of were all the ways in which he could ruin her, despite wanting to give her the world. Distance seemed like the only possible antidote, and he’d done such a good job at providing her with it that she’d become a complete stranger, and a much better person than she ever could’ve been if he’d stuck around. He loved her beyond words.

Seeing her now, so dashing and decided, filled him with immeasurable relief; however, at the same time, his heart was sinking in grief. He’d missed her every single day they’d spent apart. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of how much better she would be doing without him, and how brilliant she’d turn out to be. The happiness he felt in seeing those predictions had come true could only be compared to the sorrow of missing out on her company for all those years – and now, for the first time, he wondered if she felt anything like it.

It was easier to assume she didn’t, even if there was enough evidence to say otherwise. He hadn’t even spoken to her until that night. There was so much he wished to catch up on, and such a strong conviction that he shouldn’t. It was never too late to ruin her. It was not to late to get to know her as well. Even if the need to do so in the first place was entirely his fault. So many words stuck down his chest. So many years of silence. 

“…I’m sorry”, he said, the words burning through his throat as he uttered them, filling the night silence with an aching dread.

Joan closed her eyes, sighing as she lifted her head up to the sky, the corners of her mouth once again curling up into the tiniest of smiles. “It’s ok”, she said, staring upwards, a picture so perfect Isadore thought of pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Instead, he looked up as well, staring at stars much more distant than the one sitting right beside him.

 

~

 

From that night onward, Isadore and Joan continued to meet.

It wasn’t planned, and they never said anything about it either. Isadore simply kept on going out for his night strolls, as he would’ve done it even if his sister never showed up again, but he stopped by the same stoned wall every time to smoke, just in case she did. He figured her train of thought must’ve been similar, because that’s where she’d always run into him.

They’d tell each other about their day, even if they were both equally vague about it – Isadore because he was still afraid of opening himself too much, but also because it was rare that anything interesting happened; on Joan’s case, it appeared to be either because there wasn’t much to report as well, or because she didn’t seem to be the most talkative of people. When there was nothing to be said, they both stayed in silence, letting the wind do the talking for them, and it never felt forced.

She shared her thoughts on the books she liked, which apparently all fell under the gothic genre. Isadore couldn’t partake on her fondness for all the terror that type of literature ensued, but he could understand why it would appeal to her. Her thirst for novels in general, regardless of subject matter, already made him admire her even more.

Every now and then, she’d mention her friend – the one she’d sneak out to see. Not that there was anything that prevented them from meeting under normal circumstances, she once added, but he liked to go out at night as well, and would often invite her to hang out with him. When Isadore asked, she said she didn’t mind staying up late, as long as it meant she got to do it in good company. He wondered if that included him as well. He couldn’t recall ever running into this friend of hers at night, but figured they’d just never happened to be up at the same time, seeing how Joan was hanging out with him now, and not with them. Regardless, he was convinced that, whoever they might be, they were definitely cooler than him. He was automatically intimidated.

Joan didn’t seem like the kind of person who would befriend anyone who wasn’t as great as she was – and, the way he saw it, she deserved only the best. There was something about the way she talked that felt incredibly witty, as if she had a deeper layer of wisdom to her whose true power regular people would never be able to grasp. Whenever they chatted, he felt as if she were the oldest sibling among the two, despite her being several years younger than him. She’d grown so much while he was away, and he found there was little else to do but stare in amazement at the woman she had become, feeling unbelievably blessed that he got to share those moments with her now.

For the first time since he’d arrived in town, he felt as if he was beginning to make progress.

Until he started coughing.

It was weak at first, and it bothered him so little he didn’t even realize it could become an issue. He’d always been prone to being sick, especially as a child – and Dale had always been quick to blame it on some unhealthy habit of his, such as Isadore’s fondness for sweets, or his tendency to forget his coat at home, or the cigarettes once he’d started smoking. Not much had changed in that sense, except now Isadore had only the memory of Dale’s scolding, instead of getting it directly from the source.

Still, it’d been a while since he’d last gotten sick, and he’d never let his past cases stop him. He couldn’t afford to take sick days from work, so he just pushed through it, and it always seemed to work out fine in the end. His initial cough was so minor that the thought of slowing down because of it hadn’t even occurred to him, since he’d endured much worse.

As the days passed, however, he felt it growing stronger, forcing him to stop his calculations much more frequently than before in order to manage his coughing fits. In thinking back to the past weeks, however, he couldn’t tell when it had actually started – it was as if it had always been there. In any case, he still didn’t want to perceive it as a hazard; it was merely an inconvenience.

It got worse as the nights grew colder. It wouldn’t be long until the snowing season started, and Isadore found that the crisp chilly air was one of the worst triggers. His throat felt raspy and flayed, and feeling it freeze as he breathed in made him wish for nothing more than to get rid of all the frigidness he’d just inhaled. Talking became more and more painful, so he let Joan do most of it. She’d ask if he was ok, the frequency of such questions increasing as the days went by, and he would always nod her concerns away, certain that there was nothing to worry about. It seemed bad now, but it would blow over, just like it had in the past.

The more he repeated that idea, however, the more it started to feel like a lie.

Alas, he didn’t know how to change – he was still the same irresponsible child from decades ago, who never seemed to learn his lesson despite how many times he’d been told what he should and shouldn’t do. Talking to Joan was the best thing that had happened to him for the past few months, and he’d worked really hard to get his current job. The best he could do for now was trying to keep things as they were.

He knew it wasn’t exactly a solid plan, but he honestly couldn’t remember ever having one even once in his life.

For better or for worse, it had gotten him this far.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Isadore lifted his head after coughing into his arm, watching as Joan swung her feet in front of her, eyes fixed on the ground. She’d barely spoken a word to him since they met that night, and seemed to be avoiding his line of sight as well, be it was on purpose or not. He’d never seen her that antsy since they’d started talking.

He wanted to ask if something was wrong, but figured he wasn’t exactly in a position to point out other people’s troubles. Part of him was sure that the reason why her eyes hadn’t met his all night was because of how awful he looked – his cough had been keeping him for sleeping for a couple of days now, and his throat hurt too much for him to try to eat anything; not that he felt hungry in the first place. In fact, the simple thought of getting anything down his stomach made him feel nauseous. It was probably safe to assume his face was as awful as he felt, and it wouldn’t be of much help in trying to convince her that he was fine.

Seeing her tense like that, however, caused him more discomfort than his sickness ever would. Her brows remained permanently furrowed, and her arms were crossed hard against her chest. He’d give anything to know what was on her mind.

“If I tell you something”, she said, almost as if she could read his thoughts, “do you promise not to get mad?" 

“Yes”, said Isadore, realizing he couldn’t think of anything that could make him get mad at her.

“I’ve scheduled an appointment with Dale for you”, she blurted out, twisting her feet together. “I mean, with the doctor”, she blushed, shrinking her shoulders a little.

Isadore coughed once, but otherwise stayed silent. He stared down.

“Please don’t be mad”, she said, just barely swinging her crossed legs. Her voice still sounded soft and low, but there was a hint of shakiness to it Isadore hadn’t actually heard before. 

“I’m not mad”, he tried to smile, but there was nothing he could do to hide the fact that his knees were starting to shake. He felt thankful that Joan still hadn’t looked at him.

“I’m not trying to set you up for anything, I just…” she brushed a lock of hair away from her face, which seemed to grow increasingly red. “You’ve been getting worse." 

“…I have”, said Isadore, not exactly trying to confirm that information to her, seeing there was no doubt left in her expression – it felt more as if he was trying to convince himself of something he already knew to be true, but refused to admit. He coughed again, more violently this time.

“I knew you wouldn’t do anything about it, but you need help”, she turned her head and looked at him, her eyes beaming with concern. Isadore could feel his skin burning. “I’ve already arranged everything, you just have to show up.”

“I just have to show up”, Isadore repeated automatically, feeling his limbs grow numb. His mind was starting to turn foggy, as if he was trapped in a dream that was now beginning to fade. 

“You’ve been coughing for so long now”, she said, leaning closer to him. “Please go see the doctor, Dory.”

Isadore choked.

Joan backed away, staring back at the ground. “S-sorry”, she mumbled, fidgeting with her hands. “I heard Dale calling you that once, I… I figured it was ok.”

“No, it’s-” he coughed again. “It’s alright, I was just caught by surprise”, he smiled nervously and waved his hand a little, trying his best not to blush. “It’s just been a while since… I mean, no one calls me that”, he said, scratching his neck.

Joan relaxed her posture a bit. “Dale doesn’t call you that either”, she commented, the corner of her mouth lifting into the tiniest of grins. “He only did it that one time.”

“Do you remember what he was talking about?”, he hesitated before asking, still picking at his own skin.

Joan nodded, her expression growing into a much warmer smile. “He was telling me about the time we went to the carnival, back when I was a baby”, she looked up at him. “Do you remember that?”

Isadore nodded. “When it rained?”, he asked. 

“Yes”, continued Joan, staring at her own hands. “I don’t know why it was just the three of us, but that’s how he said it happened. Either way, it was getting late, and we had to go home, and Dale said that I started crying.” Isadore continued to nod. “Because apparently I’d lost the stuffed animal I’d brought with me, and you couldn’t find it anywhere, and it was starting to rain.” She looked up at the sky. “He said you left me with him waiting by one of the tents and rushed back into the carnival as it poured, battling through the crowd, and you only came back once you’d found my toy”.

“A stuffed bunny”, he smiled, half-lost in nostalgia.

“I still have it”, she smiled back, closing her eyes.

“I can’t believe _that’s_ the story that got a “Dory” out of him”, chuckled Isadore, turning back to his own feet.

“It was on the part where he told me about how you dashed through the crowd”, she said. “He corrected himself on the spot, though. But I didn’t forget.”

“Still”, he said, “it’s… funny to think how he remembers it.”

“It’s one of my favorites”, she stated. “I think it’s one of his as well.”

Isadore kept staring down, still finding himself lost within a surreal haze. He didn’t know how to feel about the fact that Joan had heard stories about him, or what kinds of stories they could be. He wondered if she had any memories of him from before he disappeared. It couldn’t be much, since she apparently relied on Dale to know what their adventures were like when the three of them were still together. Was he even real to her? He had left her nothing of substance, only fading impressions. He didn’t know whether the real life version of himself was better or worse than the figure she’d built from stories along the years, and couldn’t tell which alternative would hurt less. Since Dale had been the source of those anecdotes, she was completely subjected to his perspective on things. What Isadore couldn’t understand, however, was how much it seemed to differ from his own.

Of course he still remembered the time they went to the carnival. He’d been looking forward to it all week. Their parents would be too busy to take them, and there was no one available to look after Joan, so the only alternative was to take her with them – and neither brother had opposed to it. Isadore feared the pram would be too clumsy to maneuver in the middle of a crowd, so he took his sister in his arms and did not let go.

That is, until she started crying. He’d noticed that she’d been growing more and more restless, and took it as a sign that it was time to go home, even because the sky was starting to turn grey. It was only as they approached the exit that Isadore took notice of the missing bunny. He hastily looked around the area, scanning the ground as quickly as he could, but it was nowhere to be found. When he notified Dale of their loss, his brother rolled his eyes. It was a shame, and Isadore should’ve been more alert, Dale said, but there was no way they could recover it now. They’d have to deal with it when they got home.

But Isadore couldn’t accept it. Taking care of Joan was his responsibility. It was his fault that she was crying now. He should’ve been paying more attention. If he hadn’t been so distracted, then he would’ve taken notice of Joan losing her toy right away. Heavy drops of rain began falling from the sky. Dale kept dragging them towards the exit, telling him to just forget about it. But he knew Dale wouldn’t forget about it. He’d keep that memory, never really using it against Isadore, but forever having it as proof of the walking disaster that his brother could be. They’d find another way to make Joan stop crying, Dale said. People were starting to look. They needed to get home. But if Isadore walked away now, there’d be no way to fix the mess he’d created.

He remembered how he pulled Dale towards a nearby tent and transferred Joan to his arms, running back the path they’d come from. He remembered Dale yelling at him, telling him to come back, and how Isadore ran faster and faster until he could no longer hear him. He knew it would only make his brother more upset at him, but he had to fix what he’d started. He stumbled his way through the crowd, running into the swarm of people who were now rushing in the opposite direction, towards the exit. The rain began to fall harder. He simply _had_ to find that bunny. It was his mission, his responsibility. He pictured Dale still yelling at him from a distance, trying to calm Joan down. Raindrops hit his cold back with bullet-like strength, running down his hair, soaking his shirt. Every second he spent racing down the flooded grass made his situation grow worse. He needed to make things right.

If he had been the one to tell Joan about that day, that’s probably what he would’ve narrated – his vision blurred by the rain, his awkward run through the hurrying crowd, the guilt he felt over causing her to cry – and what would’ve made his face curl up into a sad smile as he did so. To him, his carnival endeavors were a tale of remorse and worry, from letting what should’ve been a perfect day turn into Dale rolling his eyes in disappointment, thanks to his faulty babysitting skills; a story on how he didn’t mean to cause any harm, but let it happen anyway. Even if he did eventually find the bunny, lying in a puddle several meters away from where he’d first noticed it was missing, his relief was still overshadowed by the weight of letting it get lost in the first place. That’s what he thought mattered most, and what he was prepared to hear about when Joan said that was one of the stories she’d been told.

However, the version she was aware of didn’t quite match his. Of course, his brother had no way of knowing how the part where Isadore ran in the rain went, seeing how he’d been left behind under a tent, but he could’ve chosen to focus on how negatively it had affected him. Except he apparently didn’t even tell Joan that he’d screamed for Isadore to return, and didn’t seem too concerned with how long it took for his brother to come back either. Instead, Dale’s version carried only the victory, without any of the guilt.

“I’m surprised you actually got to hear something positive about me”, he said, only shifting his eyes from the ground as he swung his head to the side in another coughing fit.

“Positive was all I ever heard about you”, Joan said after he stopped coughing.

He tried to imagine what the other positive stories could possibly be, but his mind remained empty. Even though she seemed happy enough, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that everything she knew about him was a lie – in spite of how it was merely another version of reality, just like his perspective would’ve been, he felt unable to match it to his own, almost as if they were two completely separate incidents. It wasn’t fake in the traditional sense of the word, as in something that differed from the truth; instead, it was because the tale she relied on was incomplete.

But Isadore knew he was not free of blame either. If he’d been the one to fill in the role of the narrator, Joan still would’ve grown up on equally unreliable half-truths. Disappearing from her life meant she’d been deprived of having access to his side of the story – but then again, it led her to growing up on much more positive tales, even if to him they felt just as real as the novels she seemed so keen on reading. His absence was ultimately the thing that saved his image.

Most importantly, however, was that he knew that if he’d been the one telling that same tale, he also would’ve left out the very piece Dale had apparently omitted as well. He did not blame his brother for it; he either did it because it was not relevant to Joan’s role in the story, or maybe because it felt irrelevant to Dale as well. Both possibilities felt equally plausible, although the second was admittedly more painful.

This missing scene was part of why that day was so memorable to Isadore on the first place, in ways that he didn’t even know if he would’ve been able to express if needed. It was how after he’d retrieved the bunny from the puddle he’d found it in, he rushed back to the tent near the exit, already bracing himself to be reprimanded for running off, hoping that the success of his mission would be enough to grant him redemption for causing the situation to escalate in the first place. Once he got there, however, he was met not with a cold disappointed stare, but by Dale sighing in relief, his eyes glistening with warmth and worry, his expression shifting into a smile so simple, and yet so sincere, that it was as if the sun had started shining again.

Isadore scooted under the tent, smiling back, trembling under the rainy wind, wondering whether he should offer Joan her stuffed toy back or not – it was originally the point of his expedition, but by now the bunny was absolutely drenched, and Joan was no longer crying. He watched as Dale skillfully transferred her from one arm to another as he took off his jacket, only to then wrap it around Isadore’s soaked shoulders, saying something about how one shouldn’t stay out in the cold wearing wet clothes.

They stood there huddled side by side as they waited for the storm to pass, in a moment that seemed to go by in a flash, while at the same time lasting beyond time. Dale’s smile still carried on, not necessarily reflected on his neutral face, but on his still beaming eyes, shining with sincerity that surpassed any fear, and light that banished any rainfall. Isadore wore his brother’s coat like a blanket, though it felt more like a shelter – a fortress of reassurance, lasting as long as the instant they were stuck in. That moment was as surreal as it was unusual, and Isadore would often catch himself thinking of that side of Dale he didn’t know the other had, while at the same time knowing it was everything that truly defined him.

That’s what he remembered the most, even if the memory itself felt lost in a plane that no words could ever reach. He wondered if Dale shared that feeling as well, or if he had any recollection of it at all. He wondered if Joan would ever be aware of it, if she wasn’t already – as if the sentiment had lingered on beyond remembrance and narrative, manifesting itself through the act of classifying the story as one of her and her brother’s favorites, not knowing that Isadore shared that opinion as well.

He though of the look on Dale’s eyes from that evening, and how it remained equally flooded with concern on the following day, when Isadore woke up with a cough not unlike the one that plagued him in the present. He remembered how it was Dale who made him stay home and rest despite their parents believing him when he said he was fine enough to go to school, and how it turned out to be the right call, for he ended up getting worse during the day, taking over a week to fully recover – and having Dale convince their parents that he should stay in for every single one of those days, despite taking their side in the talks on how running off in the rain was a generally terrible idea.

Back in his current reality, he now gazed at Joan, realizing her eyes carried that very same concerned look as well. Even after all these years, his siblings were still the ones taking care of him. As much as it did make his chest feel heavy with guilt over letting it get this bad, it also filled him with a comforting type of safety he hadn’t realized how desperately he’d been missing.

“I just have to show up”, he said.

“Will you?”, asked Joan, her voice loaded with a contained eagerness. Isadore nodded, watching her face soften in relief. “That’s good”, she smiled.

Isadore played with his own hands. “Thank you for doing this”, he said.

Joan sat a little closer to him, leaning against his arm, and Isadore felt his heart light up for another of those moments that seemed to stretch on to infinity.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Isadore had managed to go almost thirty minutes without coughing. He considered it a new personal record. It would be nice if it actually meant he was getting better, but it was mostly due to how he’d just spent the past half hour artificially timing his breathing so it’d be as stable as possible. If anything, he’d gotten even worse, but that seemed to be the pattern for the past few weeks anyway. 

The fact that he hadn’t slept at all the previous night didn’t help either. He’d already been having trouble resting due to his illness, but this time it was more related to his state of mind rather than any possible parasites. His anxiety made his body ache even harder than the flu, and his muscles were starting to hurt from how stiffly they held their position as Isadore sat so impeccably still at the waiting room in Dr. Hastor’s office.

Each second seemed to drag on for entire hours, and he counted every single one of them. Just the fact that he was standing in that place made him feel so awkward he feared the atmosphere itself would turn against him and blow him up into a thousand pieces, like a body purging itself of unwanted pathogens. Even breathing felt like an unspeakable act of defiance, which is why he absolutely refused to allow himself to let out a single cough. “Just showing up” was a lot easier in theory.

Everything about that room made him feel inherently inadequate. The simple yet tasteful wallpaper, the worn-out velvet cushions on the sturdy wooden chairs, the file cabinets in the corner, the staircase leading into a world beyond his reach, all glowing under the warm golden light of a few scattered lamps – each and every element had an undeniable homely quality to it; this was a place of comfort and healing, a place of trust, and Isadore couldn’t belong less to that universe if he tried.

The previous patient had left the office not long after Isadore had arrived, but the doctor asked for a couple of minutes before he was allowed in. Nothing but a wooden door separated the two brothers now, which was the closest they’d been to one another every since Mr. Buggs’ party had ended, and the only words exchanged between the two during that period had consisted of nothing until Dale asked Isadore to wait a couple of minutes ago. Isadore wondered if he’d be able to say anything at all in the near future, but figured it wouldn’t be that grave if his ailment wasn’t diagnosed at all – his rising anxiety was sure to kill him before his appointment even began.

The swinging of the door nearly gave him a heart attack. He started at his own hands, gripping to his knees so they wouldn’t shake. Dale walked to the cabinets in the corner and placed a file in one of its drawers. He turned to the other side of the room. “I’ll see you now, Mr… Isadore”, he said, motioning towards his office.

Isadore cautiously walked into the adjacent room, fearing the door would decapitate him like a guillotine the moment he passed through the frame. The ceiling might as well cave in too. Or the ground could open up into an endless pit. The house could bend the laws of possibility to end his life in a million ways, as he figured would be the only fair course of action. Death would be both his punishment for ever invading that office, and his ticket out of that situation.

However, the foundation remained just as stable as when he’d first arrived in town, and instead of having the walls slide closer and closer until they squashed him, he instead saw Dale motion to the bed next to the corner and ask him to sit, which caused his fear level to increase just as much as the crushing would.

“I’ve heard you’ve got a cough that won’t leave you alone”, Dale said, writing some notes down on a new file. Isadore knew that if he tried to say something, words would be the last thing to come out of his mouth – best case scenario would be the cough he’d been suppressing, worst case scenario would be just flat out screaming. He nodded, feeling his neck grow even stiffer than before in spite of the movement. “Ah, well. Hopefully, we can at least figure out why!”

He watched as Dale removed a small leather case from his desk, opening it to reveal a stethoscope. “Would you mind unbuttoning your shirt?” He hung the instrument around his neck. “I’d like to take a listen”, he said, as he scribbled down a couple more notes.

Isadore’s hands trembled, clumsily undoing button after button, taking much longer to do so than could be considered normal. Dale seemed to be waiting for him to finish before approaching the bed, but Isadore could only guess, as he kept his head low fiercely staring at a crease in the bed sheet, avoiding all possible forms of eye contact. His hands lingered at the last button, as if he’d suddenly forgotten how to move them, and he heard Dale’s footsteps coming closer.

He put his hands to his side and sat up straight, choosing to focus on a tiny mark on the wallpaper that matched up to his new line of sight. Suddenly, he felt Dale’s hand gently touching his back, as he used the other one to fix the stethoscope on his ears and hold the cold metal diaphragm against Isadore’s chest. It sent a surge of blood rushing straight to his face, and he wondered if Dale had been able to pick up on the beat his heart just skipped.

“Breathe in”, Dale said, and Isadore obeyed. At this point, he was sure he’d forgotten how to do it naturally, and could only continue the motion if Dale instructed him to do so. “Breathe out”, said the doctor, and the other followed. His other concerns on the house falling apart on him faded a bit, mostly because his mind seemed to be focused exclusively on the hand Dale still had resting on his back. It felt warm, and soft, and kind – but most of all, it felt comforting. It sent a tingle down Isadore’s spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck, making his vision seem cloudy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything like it.

Dale told him to breathe a few more times, and Isadore did. Dale told him to cough, and he did – once on purpose, then for a full minute straight without stopping, releasing most of the tension he’d built up during the past hour. Dale stepped back to his desk, and Isadore felt as if the temperature suddenly dropped once he no longer could feel his brother’s touch. He buttoned up his shirt as Dale put the stethoscope back in its casing, tucking it back into his desk drawer.

“How long has this been going on for?”, asked Dale.

“A couple of weeks now”, replied Isadore, his voice cracking a little. He cleared his throat.

“Are there any other symptoms you’ve noticed?”, asked Dale. “Fever, weariness…?”

“Weariness yes, fever no”, said Isadore. “…I mean, none so far”, he added.

Dale nodded. “Keep an eye out for those”, he said. “So far, my best guess is that it’s most likely an allergic reaction, thanks to the changing of the seasons, though it’d be foolish to rule out the flu - you’re not the first coughing case I’ve seen this month, and I have a feeling you won’t be the last either.” Isadore nodded. “Can you think of something that could’ve triggered it? Perhaps you’ve come in contact with someone else who was maybe sick themselves?”

Isadore shook his head. “I don’t think-” He coughed. “I don’t think I’ve seen much of anyone lately”, he said with a tiny smile.

“I see”, said Dale. “Do you smoke?”

The smile faded. Dale should know the answer to that – Isadore was already a smoker by the time he’d left. Even if Dale had assumed he’d stopped, Joan was perfectly aware that he hadn’t. “Yes”, he said, “I still do”.

“Well”, continued Dale, “I’d strongly recommend you avoid it, as it is a huge aggravating factor.” He seemed to write something down on the file. “What time do you usually go to sleep?”

Isadore furrowed his brow. That question was somehow even worse. Ever since they were kids he’d had trouble with going to bed early. There was no way Dale had forgotten all the times he’d lectured Isadore on how sleeping at a reasonable hour was crucial for a healthy lifestyle. He probably had another one of those lectures up his sleeve at that very moment. “It varies, I suppose”, he said, a little unsure. “But it’s never earlier than midnight”, he added, bracing himself for the upcoming speech.

However, Dale just nodded. “As long as you’re getting at least eight hours of sleep per night”, he said. “Perhaps you could try going to bed a little earlier, just to see if it changes your disposition for the better.”

Isadore waited, but Dale had fallen silent. That really was all he seemed to have to say. He scribbled a couple more notes, the scratching of his pen echoing in the silent room. 

“I’d also advise against being out in the cold, especially now”, Dale broke the pause. “Though I don’t suppose you spend much of your time outdoors, given your occupation”.

Now this time Dale had no excuse. He simply _had_ to be aware of how Isadore stayed outside at night, seeing how Joan had been meeting him at that hour for weeks now. There was no way Dale could be that unobservant.

“Actually, I-” He coughed again, this time taking a bit longer to stop. “I sometimes walk at night. Despite my profession.” He wondered if he sounded as bitter as he felt. He hoped so.

“I’d recommend putting that activity on hold, at least until you feel better”, Dale said, unaffected. He wrote something on a piece of paper. “I’m prescribing you a cough syrup for the time being, just to calm your lungs down”, he walked to Isadore and handed him the prescription. “Though I think a change of habits could be really beneficial for you now”.

“Is that so”, Isadore asked drily.

“Doesn’t hurt to try”, said Dale. “Try not to strain yourself and keep an eye out for any new symptoms”, he turned back to his desk, “but if everything goes as it should, I probably won’t be seeing you for a while.”

Isadore felt the tension building up on his chest again, his hands folding into fists by the side of his legs. The words stormed out of his mouth before he could even think of stopping them, and he heard himself screaming: “Cut it out!”

Dale stopped, then turned back towards him. “Oh, I’m sorry”, he said, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “I thought this was what you wanted!” His face folded into a much more stern expression. His voice sounded downright grim. “I mean, since you left home without even so much as a notice-”

“I know-”

“-And then disappeared from the face of the Earth for over a _decade_ -”

“Just stop it-”

“Only to show up again as if nothing had happened, acting as if you had never seen me before, and going weeks without ever exchanging single word!” Dale exclaimed. “I just assumed you wanted me in on your little game!” He sounded almost out of breath. “But I suppose there’s no room for me even in _that_ ”, Dale said through gritted teeth. Isadore looked away.

There was silence. Heavy. Crushing. Isadore kept looking down.

“Thirteen years, Isadore”, uttered Dale in a sad, angry whisper. Isadore looked up at him, only to see him with his back half-turned, head hanging low, arms frozen to the side of his body. “ _Thirteen years”._

Isadore waited a few minutes, but his brother kept on staring at the ground.

He left the doctor’s office.

 


	8. Chapter 8

****

Dale knew about Joan’s late night encounters with their brother – but, most importantly, Joan knew that he knew. Admittedly, she wasn’t exactly the stealthiest of individuals, even because often times Dale would still be awake as she tried to sneak out, due to his extensive working hours. However, he wasn’t all that subtle either.

He’d make seemingly random comments during the day on how the season was turning colder, and that anyone would be a fool not to wear a scarf if they were to go out at night, or an extra sweater, for instance. He’d mention how the sky had gotten cloudier in the afternoon and how it’d probably rain as it got dark, but hopefully it would have stopped around midnight – but he still found it safer to carry an umbrella just in case, given the unstable weather. Joan listened, and responded with equally vague remarks on how yes, it really had started to get colder at night, but still took her brother’s advice seriously.

As she went to her room after bedtime, wishing Dale good night, he’d stop for a moment and hug her, holding her as close as possible, telling her with a soft yet heavy voice to sleep well and stay warm, to which she always replied with “I will”. She’d stay up reading until she felt it was safe to come out, and not a word was spoken about it on the following morning.

Nothing about it was an obvious sign that she was meeting up with Isadore specifically, though – however, somehow, he knew. Joan herself couldn’t say how he found out, or how she knew that he’d found out, but she could _feel_ it; he didn’t say it, but it was there, clouding up his heart, a sorrow so intense and passionate Joan felt as if she could touch it if she tried.

And yet, there were moments when this fog lifted, and there was nothing left but warmth and caring. It was during those moments such as when he embraced her at night, wishing her to stay safe, or when he dropped hints on how to prepare for the cold – it was almost as if Dale wasn’t addressing her exclusively, but talking to Isadore through her as well; and as she wrapped a scarf around her neck, tucking an umbrella under her arm “just in case”, she knew she was protected by this comforting energy, and wished Isadore could feel the same. 

As much as she hoped, however, she had to come to terms with the fact that he most likely couldn’t. She doubted her brother’s jacket was enough to protect him from the chilly night temperatures, and he never seemed to make an effort to bundle up more, claiming it didn’t bother him. His cough kept getting worse and he wasn’t doing anything about it – though if the stories she’d heard of him were true, he was never really good at taking care of himself in the first place. Energies and feelings could only go so far; if she really wanted to help him, she’d need something concrete.

Either way, she was still cautious in scheduling an appointment with Dale. She knew he wouldn’t actually refuse to help, but she had to make it sound unsuspicious enough in order not to create any additional tension. There were too many things at stake to play it in any way but safe.

She was casual, as best as she could. She told Dale she’d ran into the town’s new accountant the other day, and how he’d asked if it would be possible for her to arrange for him to see the doctor. Countless others appointments were scheduled in a similar way, seeing how Dale still hadn’t hired a secretary to manage his schedule. It was as vague as she could make it without sounding suspicious, and as specific as she could manage without being menacing. Dale’s response was just as relaxed, which she knew it meant he felt just as apprehensive. It was a complicated dance they both pretended they weren’t performing.

But it had to work. They needed it to work. And, once Isadore agreed to it as well, she was hopeful.

She didn’t see Isadore on the night of his appointment – knowing how sick he probably was, she found it obvious that Dale would demand that he stayed home resting, and was counting on the chance that this time Isadore would listen. No point in trying to meet someone who wouldn’t be there.

She didn’t see Dale either, though, which also wasn’t all that unexpected. It wasn’t uncommon for him to stay up working until late, and she usually only saw him to wish him goodnight – but this time, since she had no reason to stay awake past her bedtime, she ended up falling asleep before he went upstairs. 

It was only on the next morning she realized something was wrong.

Sitting in the kitchen under the grey light pouring from the window, Dale carried the same wistful look in his eyes, although this time there was something even more off about it. It didn’t feel simply longing, it felt _sorrowful_ – his brows furrowed in a permanent question, shoulders tensed and arched, making him look as lively as the ashen winter morning reflecting on the glass. She didn’t ask him about the appointment, but she didn’t have to, and knew she wouldn’t get an answer if she did.

On that night, she snuck out once more, finding Isadore smoking by their usual spot. She waited a few moments until asking how he was feeling, and if his visit to the doctor had helped at all. He smiled and waved it off, making vague comments on how it was probably just allergies, and that she shouldn’t worry about him. She nodded, pretending to buy it, and he pretended he believed her act as well.

Not a word was said about it on the following morning – but then again, words hadn’t exactly been Dale’s specialty since the appointment, and continued not to be so for the following days. As she wished him goodnight, he simply hugged her, not saying anything, and took much, much longer to let go.

One night, Isadore didn’t show up.

He was there on the following one, apologizing for his previous absence, saying he’d gotten caught up in some work matters. He tried to smile, but coughed right through it, and didn’t stop for several minutes.

The next time Joan came to meet him, he wasn’t there again.

And he didn’t come back on the following nights either.

She went home after her fourth failed attempt to see him, slamming the door on her way in. Dale was still up, looking over some patient files in the kitchen table, in the same position as when Joan snuck past him about an hour before then. The tea on the cup sitting by his side, cold and untouched, vibrated with each stomp from the girl’s violent climb upstairs, creating one final set of circular tidal waves as she stopped by the doorframe.

“I’m worried about Isadore”, she said in a rush, breaking the silence.

Dale looked up at her, as if he’d only now noticed her coming in. “The accountant?” he asked, his face resting on his hand, mouth half-covered by his fingers.

“Our _brother_ ”, she exclaimed, feeling her face grow red. She wasn’t used to raising her voice like that. It sounded like the loudest possible noise in the world. Dale’s eyebrows creased even harder. “You knew I was heading out to see him! You know I’ve been doing this!” Dale stayed silent. “You knew it, because you care as well!”

He looked away.

“Why are you acting like this?” The words burned her throat. Her heart was racing.

“It’s best if you don’t miss him” he said.

“No, it’s _easier_ if _you_ don’t!” Dale flinched. Her feelings boiled within her lungs. She held her breath in order not to cry.

“Go to sleep, Jo.” His voice was absolutely flat. It hit her so viciously Joan defensively crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Why won’t you do anything about it?”

“There’s nothing I could do for him."

“You could do more than just watch!” Her stomach turned. Fighting with Dale always made her body feel bitter. Poison ran through her veins instead of blood. 

Dale’s fingers twitched, pressing hard against his chin. His eyes grew narrower until they closed altogether, filling his expression with grief. “He chose to leave”, he said upon opening them, his voice an angry, cutting whisper.

“I don’t care!” Joan yelled. “I don’t know why he left! I didn’t even ask him why!” Her voice was starting to crack. She breathed in. “All I care is that he came back for us!”

“You don’t know that”, he turned to her.

“Yes, I do!” She hated how she sounded when she screamed. “He chose to leave his old job, because he asked to come work here!” Dale froze. “He could’ve just stayed in London, but he didn’t.” She sighed, staring down. “You know where to find him. He’s not trying to hide. He was _searching_ for us. He’s just… coming back home.”

Dale remained in the same position, sitting up straight on the kitchen chair. Joan blinked hard, sending the tears rolling down her cheeks before hastily drying them up with the sleeve of her coat. She looked up at her brother. 

“Isadore needs our help”, she said. “And if you walk out on him now, it won’t be him that chose to leave anymore; it’ll be you who chose to abandon him.” She blinked hard once more, trying to stop more tears from forming, but instead made them rush down her face again. Dale looked as if he was about to reach out for her, but she stormed out of the kitchen before he had a chance to get up.

She slammed the door to her bedroom and sat on her bed, hugging her own knees. More tears kept falling silently from her eyes, but she felt too angry to sob them out.

After several long minutes, she heard Dale’s footsteps echoing through the house, heading not towards her room, but to the staircase instead.

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Dale rushed down the stairs, his hurried footsteps echoing heavily on the wooden floor, growing more and more tense as they approached the door. The freezing night air hit his face with unforeseen violence as he stepped outside, making him realize just how cold the weather had become, filling him with a flustered rage over how Isadore had been foolish enough to go out at night despite his illness.

The fact that Isadore had so blatantly disregarded Dale’s advice was a cruel blow to his heart. It felt almost spiteful on his brother’s part, especially after all the time he’d spent pretending Dale was invisible – like rubbing salt on a wound that had never been able to heal, even after all this time. It was sickening.

Even more so was how he’d refused to do anything about it until Joan pushed him to. He still felt saddened over their argument, but he knew she was right. This might be one of the few situations in which leaving the house instead of talking it over with her was actually the correct choice.

He made his way across the icy street, down to the stoned house where his brother’s office stood. The frigid wind cut fiercely through his skin, a harsh warning of storms yet to come. He crossed his arms picked up the pace, trying to contain his own inner turmoil.

The inside layout of the building was not all that different from that of his own, with a narrow corridor containing a set of stairs and a door at the end, which probably led to a small number of rooms. A plaque on the wall indicated that the accounting facilities could be found on the second floor. Dale kept his arms folded against his chest as he climbed up, but felt his legs slowing down the more he approached Isadore’s office.

He found himself standing in front of a wooden door, struggling to stare anywhere but the ground. He tried knocking, but his hands appeared to be stuck to the side of his chest, his arms refusing to unfold. His shoulders kept shaking due to emotions he refused to name, growing increasingly tense as he demanded himself to _quit it._  

He couldn’t do this. He had to do this. He was being ridiculous. He could barely recognize himself.

He breathed in and knocked on the door with a single knuckle, trying to make it sound as stable as possible despite the slight tremor of his hand, which faded slowly as he rested his finger on the wooden surface. He sighed.

Nothing.

He tried it a second time, but still obtained no response. He knocked louder, the dry beat spreading through the poorly-lit hallway, still getting nothing but silence in return.

“Isadore”, he tried, sounding surprisingly calm. “Please let me in. I just want to talk”, he continued, despite having no idea of what he wanted to say, relying solely on a burning wish to say something he could no longer ignore.

And once again, nothing.

Dale hesitated. If he didn’t go through with it now, he doubted he’d gather the necessary courage to do it at any point in the future. Returning home now meant not only being unable to face Joan, but also remaining equally incapable of facing himself.

There was no going back. 

He grabbed the doorknob and pushed forward.

Part of him was surprised to see the door actually open. He had no idea whether it would be unlocked or not, it was nothing but a lucky guess – or act of desperation. His astonishment on the matter was rather limited, however, for just as soon as he stepped into the stuffy dark office, his attention was driven to its main desk, where his brother lied unconscious.

Isadore had his lowered head resting on his left arm, his right hand hanging lifelessly by the side of his lap, showing no reaction at all to the door to his facilities being hastily open. Dale rushed to his brother’s side, calling his name as he shook his shoulder, but once more receiving the same troubling silence in response.

He placed a hand over Isadore’s forehead, feeling it immediately heat up against the other’s fevered skin. Dale knelt down next to him, wrapping his hand around Isadore’s right wrist, finding his pulse to be dangerously accelerated. His own stomach turned with worry. 

As he was about to get up, however, he felt Isadore’s hand move. His fingers twitched, curving themselves towards Dale’s, who in turn held on to his brother’s hand in one hurried movement. He felt Isadore’s grip, weakened and feverish and barely responsive, his fingers burning up against Dale’s palm for a split second before falling numb again.

“Isadore,” Dale said, standing up and leaning close to his brother’s shoulders, grabbing his arm, “can you hear me?" 

Isadore nodded, a single head twitch, so faint it was barely perceptible; but it was all that Dale needed.

“I’m bringing you home, alright?” Another feeble nod. “Can you move?” He felt Isadore’s same drained grip against his arm, his brother’s fingers shakily grabbing on to Dale’s sleeve.

“I’m going to try and stand you up”, he said, again getting a tiny nod in response. Dale wrapped Isadore’s right arm around his own shoulders, propping his brother’s body against his chest as he reached under the other’s left arm in order to add more support.

Isadore rested his head on Dale’s neck, his forehead leaning against the side of his brother’s chin. Dale felt the scorching touch of Isadore’s skin brushing against his, causing his heart to sink with an overwhelming caring feeling, and he wrapped their bodies even tighter, stumbling their way across the hallway and down the darkened stairs. 

Dale did his best to shelter Isadore from the bitter chilly winds outside, bringing him indoors as quickly as he could. Once they managed to make their way upstairs, Dale laid Isadore down on his own bed, sitting beside it for a minute to catch his breath. He turned his eyes to Isadore, who had curled up into a ball, and brushed the messy strands of hair off his brother’s face, feeling the radiating warmth of the other’s body under his fingertips, running them across Isadore’s forehead, and then down through his cheek.

“We have to bring your fever down”, Dale whispered as softly as he could, but still hearing his voice come off as unfairly cold. Isadore shrank even harder. “Do you think you could manage to eat something?” asked Dale, moving his hand towards Isadore’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. His brother shook his head for a fraction of a second, barely moving. “Not even some tea?” Isadore gave no response; his silence feeling almost hesitant. He buried his face even deeper into the bed.

Dale sighed. “At least try to get some rest”, he said, standing himself up and walking towards a wardrobe. “I’m not letting you work in that state.” He got a blanket from the back of a shelf and spread it on top of his brother, stopping by the end of the bed to remove Isadore’s shoes, laying them next to his own.

Isadore held on to the blanket with a soft shiver, pulling it over his head. Dale smiled for a moment, before his heart was once again overcome by concern. His job was done for now – the best thing to do was let Isadore sleep, something Dale doubted the other had managed to do over the past few days; and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to walk through the door.

He watched the soft surface of the blanket move up and down as Isadore breathed, filling the room with a hypnotizing rhythm. Dale returned to his brother’s side, nesting himself on the floor next to the pillow, holding on to the hand that was currently grasping the side of the covers. Upon feeling Dale’s touch, Isadore laced their fingers together, still with the same weakened grip. Dale stood in silence, feeling the unnatural heat that plagued his brother’s frame, knowing that something equally hot burned inside his own chest.

He woke up to the sound of Isadore coughing, the faint light pouring in from the window indicating that it was morning. He couldn’t even recall falling asleep, let alone being able to do so while sitting in the cold floor. He looked over at his hand, realizing that Isadore was still holding on to it. He heard his brother coughing again, their eyes meeting as Dale turned to Isadore’s face.

“How do you feel?” asked Dale, stroking the side of Isadore’s hand with his thumb.

“Bad”, Isadore said, hiding his face into the blanket, but tightening the grip around his brother’s hand. Dale chuckled, so softly it sounded almost like a sigh, feeling the corners of his mouth lift up ever so slightly into the subtlest of smiles – inside, however, he was beaming. Isadore’s touch was a lot less weakened than on the previous night, and didn’t feel nearly as burning, even if it was still somewhat feverish. As weird as it was, hearing Isadore cough also filled Dale’s chest with relief; his brother was responsive, he was awake, he was _alive_ , even if there was still a lot of work to be done.

“If I made you tea now, would you take it?” he asked. Isadore nodded from under the covers.

Dale’s legs felt a little beat as he got up, seeing how his sleepy position was a little less than ideal, but he figured it was worth it. He walked into the kitchen, only to find Joan sitting by the window with a kettle already on the fire. She turned her head to him as he stood by the doorframe, and then gave him a tiny smile, blinking softly. Dale smiled back.

He made his way to the opposite side of the small table, sitting in front of Joan, who leaned her weight against the wall next to them. He turned his attention to the world outside, watching as heavy white clouds swirled through the loaded sky. The wind was blowing even harder now, and he could see tiny bits of ice being carried by the currents – too small to be hail, too sharp to be snowflakes. Not a single soul on the streets.

“I won’t be attending at the office today”, he said. Joan nodded slowly, watching the storm.

When the kettle started hissing, Dale attempted to get up before Joan motioned for him to stay seated, quickly transferring the water to a teapot. She waited a few minutes before pouring herself some tea, handing Dale two other teacups before sitting again next to the window.

Dale stared at the pieces of china in front of him, looking back up at his sister. Joan raised her eyebrows and motioned from the cups, to the teapot, to the door, and then back at her brother. Dale chuckled. Joan sipped her tea.

As he went back into his bedroom, he saw that Isadore had wrapped the blanket around his shoulders like a cape, and was now sitting up next to the headboard. Dale handed him one of the cups and sat on the bed holding one for himself. Isadore smiled, but Dale couldn’t help but notice how tired he still looked, or how he seemed to be trembling. 

“Hold on a moment, I want to check your temperature”, he said, resting his teacup on the floor. He fetched a thermometer from the medicine cabinet and handed it to his brother. “Can you keep this under your arm for a few minutes?" 

Isadore nodded, placing it under the same arm he was holding the teacup with, shuffling the blanket back on his shoulder. He coughed.

And then, the room fell silent. 

Dale picked his tea back up so slowly there was barely a rattle from the porcelain. He stared at the steady drink, feeling his fingers grow more and more tense holding on to the handle. His chest felt heavy. He looked up at Isadore, who also seemed to be staring down at his teacup, blinking slowly.

“Try not to fall asleep”, Dale said. “I wish you would at least eat something.”

Isadore nodded.

“I won’t be going down to the office today, so I’ll have time to cook.”

Another nod.

“I shouldn’t have let you crash on an empty stomach yesterday.”

“I’ll stay up now.”

“Good.” 

Isadore sipped his tea, hastily swallowing it before coughing again. Dale’s grip on his teacup remained just as strong.

“I’ll return to your apartment this afternoon to pick up a change of clothes for you”, Dale said. Isadore looked up at him. “You shouldn’t go out on this weather, at least until you’ve recovered.”

Isadore nodded again.

“You shouldn’t have gone out on this weather.”

Isadore stared down.

“What were you _thinking_?” Dale felt his shoulders turning towards his brother, the words leaving his own mouth without his permission. “What was your plan in all this? What did you assume was going to happen?”

Isadore stayed silent.

“Even after all this time”, continued Dale, regaining some control over his thoughts, “I’m still utterly baffled as to how you can be so _reckless_.”

Isadore lifted his head, meeting Dale’s gaze. “It’s not very nice of you”, he said with a tired, sarcastic grin, “to corner me like this, when you know I can’t move”, he continued, tilting the shoulder of the arm where the thermometer rested.

“Seems to be the only way to capture your attention nowadays”, remarked Dale.

“Tough crowd”, Isadore shrugged, coughing into the blanket.

“It seems as though your illness hasn’t affected your wit”, Dale said, a little shocked at the bitterness in his voice, but not enough to regret it. 

“I guess some things never change.” Isadore tried to keep up his smile, but it was clearly fading. His body swayed slightly to the side, resting against the bedframe.

“Never too late to start.”

“Yes, maybe then you’d actually be happy to see me”, Isadore said, his voice trailing off, lowering his head slightly, in either defeat or fatigue.

Dale felt the blood drain from his face. “You don’t think I’m happy to see you?” His words sounded almost shaken. The strength faded from his grip, making his fingers feel numb from how strongly they’d been holding on to the porcelain. Isadore looked up at him, showing no other emotion rather than exhaustion.

Dale rested his teacup on the floor once again, moving closer to his brother. He put his hand over Isadore’s forehead, and he could’ve sworn the other had leaned against it, as if he was no longer able to bear the weight of his own head. He stayed like that for a moment, feeling his hand grow warmer thanks to a heat he wished he could contain, but whether its source stemmed from Isadore’s fever or his own inner sentiments, he could not tell. He reached under the blanket and removed the thermometer, staring at the 39oC mark where the mercury line stopped.

He sighed, grabbing Isadore’s teacup and picking up his own from the floor. “I’ll go make you something to eat. You can lie down if you want to, but I’d really like you to stay awake.” He stood up. “Do you think you can do that for me?”

Isadore nodded weakly.

“I can bring you some aspirin if you’re feeling too bad.” Usually Dale preferred to let nature run its course, but on this case he was a bit mad at what nature had managed to do so far. “Would you like that?”

Another nod. He left the room.

Isadore did manage to stay awake long enough for Dale to bring him some soup, even though the definition of “awake” only went as far as “not unconscious”; and, once his brother granted him permission to, he fell asleep again.

Dale found himself once more unable to leave the room. He did, eventually, once to stop by at Isadore’s place and put up a notice at the door to his own office saying he wouldn’t be seeing any patients for the time being; then a second time, to check on Joan, who seemed to be doing just fine on her own; he also had his own lunch and dinner pauses, which included cooking again – even though it kept him away from his bedroom, it did help him clear his mind.

The rest of the afternoon was spent by Isadore’s side. Dale tried to get some work done, looking over a few files, but overall it wasn’t a very productive day. He’d attempt to wake Isadore up every hour or two, just to make sure he was drinking enough water, but that was as far as his success rate went; his brother’s body temperature still felt strikingly high, and his cough hadn’t left him completely alone either.

As the night began to fall, Dale started to become aware of his own weariness – not exactly a physical thing, just as he was sure he wasn’t getting sick either; it was a weighted feeling of dread, of love so heavy it crushed his chest, growing to the point where he found himself pinned down on the bed, lying right next to Isadore, knowing it would take an insane amount of effort to get him to move from there.

He ran his fingers through his brother’s hair, feeling his own eyelids getting heavier, when, much to his surprise, Isadore woke up for a moment, and stared right at him. Dale gazed back into his eyes, breathing deeply.

However, Isadore blinked and looked away, and Dale heard him whisper, with a completely drained voice, “I’m sorry”.

Dale moved his hand across the side of his brother’s face, stroking the other’s burning skin with the side of his fingers, stopping at his chin, and lifting it so that Isadore was once again facing him.

“I’ve lost you once”, he said, “I’m not losing you again.”

And with that, he placed a single, tender kiss on Isadore’s forehead.

And Isadore moved his own head upwards, holding on to his brother’s hand, until his own lips met Dale’s.

He held that position for a while, but then backed off hesitantly, hiding his face once more. “I don’t want you getting sick as well”, he said.

Dale moved in closer, wrapping his arms around Isadore, nesting the other’s head against his chest. He felt the warmth of his brother’s feverish body spreading through him, engulfing him in a fiery sort of heat, which he now realized paled in comparison to the one which burned inside his heart – and which, in turn, grew even warmer once Isadore hugged him back.

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Slowly, but surely, Isadore recovered.

To him, it felt like a blur. Days and events mashed together into a shapeless unified haze, with no logical progression or overarching narrative. He remembered how tired he felt, and how his body ached deeply and frozen, and how much he struggled to stay awake, causing the room to spin every time he did so. He remembered how he’d been feeling that way ever since the cough started, but preferred to ignore it, choosing to believe that it would go away. He remembered how wrong he was.

But most of all, he remembered Dale. 

Dale, picking him up from his office and taking him home, bringing him in to a world he felt could only reject him; Dale, keeping him from the cold as they stepped outside, wrapping him in blankets and bed sheets and new changes of clothing, as well as his sheltering, tender arms; Dale, watching over him as he slept and waking him up when too much time had passed since Isadore had last managed to eat something; Dale, stroking his hair, holding his hand, sending a shiver down his spine with each loving act and motion, reminding him of what it truly meant to have his brother by his side.

Dale’s lips, soft and steady, brushing against his.

He remembered it, all of it, as surreal as a fever dream; so present he could swear it was tangible.

Soon enough, it started to become easier to stay awake, and before he knew it he was going through full hours without coughing. Dale still stayed with him, sometimes looking over patients’ files, sometimes reading, and sometimes just being there, sitting by his side, checking his temperature by placing a hand on top of Isadore’s forehead – and brushing his hair back every time he did so, shooting him a caring stare. When asked how he was feeling, Isadore answered “better”, and felt happy not to be lying.

He later came to discover over a week had passed since he’d first been brought to Dale’s room, much to his surprise – despite knowing his grasp on the passage of time was faint at best, he never would’ve guessed it’d been that long. He felt thankful for all his brother had done to help him, but couldn’t help but shrink in guilt upon thinking of how much time he’d made Dale waste looking after him.

He’d tried to reach some sort of agreement as to how to compensate Dale for all he’d done. However, as soon as Isadore mentioned the subject, Dale cut him off by saying “Don’t you dare try to pay me for this”, and that was the end of the conversation. Isadore thought of maybe helping around the house, but hadn’t quite regained enough strength to do that sort of work. Besides, Dale seemed to manage well enough on his own – a little too well, even, given the perfect shape of the house despite his busy schedule.

The feeling grew even stronger as Isadore sat with his back against the bedframe, watching Dale finish getting dressed. He’d be returning to his other patients for the first time since Isadore’s sickness, and the latter couldn’t get over how early in the morning it was, especially considering how likely Dale was to stay working until many hours after the sun had set in order to make up for lost time.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” asked Dale, casting a glance from over his shoulder at Isadore as he finished tying his shoes. 

“I’m fine”, nodded Isadore, knowing that the answer would’ve been the same even if he weren’t, for he couldn’t stand the idea of having Dale waste even another second with him. “I’m just a little dizzy”.

“You can take some more aspirin if you’d like.”

“I already took it a few hours ago, though. Isn’t it bad to take this many?”

“Ah, you’re in no danger”, said Dale, putting on a jacket. “You’d need to take about twenty at once to cause actually fatal damage. This is fine. I just wish you could feel better, Dory.”

Isadore felt his face burn up with the mention of his nickname. “I’m getting there”, he did his best to smile, trying not to sound too flustered – even though his chest had been filled with a thousand fluttering feelings.

Dale smiled back. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me. Try to get some rest.”

Isadore nodded once more, but wondered how much that advice should actually be directed at him. Resting was all he seemed to have done for the past several days – even if he had to agree that it’d been a necessary measure in the healing process, and something he should’ve done a lot more of back when his sickness was still bearable; either way, he no longer felt entitled to do it. 

In fact, the one who probably deserved it more than he did was Dale. Isadore recalled Joan having commented on how the cold season was a rather busy time, and, from what he’d been able to observe ever since he moved into town, Dale really seemed to work nonstop. If he were to put into his other patients a mere fraction of all the care he’d given to Isadore during the past week, there could be no sickness he wouldn’t be able to heal. 

The real mystery was how Dale managed to do it. A simple cough was enough to throw Isadore off so badly it escalated into something much bigger than necessary, simply because he had no idea of how to deal with his own limits. As for Dale, on the other hand, Isadore wasn’t even sure if his brother even had limits to begin with – nothing appeared to knock him down, no matter how overworked Isadore himself would’ve felt under those same conditions.

Still, there had to be something he could do. Even if Dale wouldn’t let himself be stopped by such adversities, his life would still be easier if they were gone – and seeing how Isadore appeared to be his biggest concern at the moment, the least he could do is make up for how much space he’d been taking.

He waited a few minutes after Dale was gone and changed into his regular clothes, carefully stepping his way downstairs. Even though he could hear talking coming from inside the doctor’s office, there were no other patients at the waiting room.

There had to be some degree of organization to Dale’s schedule, despite the lack of a secretary. Luckily for Isadore, his brother was actually fairly methodical with his patient files, keeping them organized in the cabinets by the side of the room. After opening a few drawers, the man came across what appeared to be Dale’s schedule for the upcoming days, filled with scribbles and attempts to reorganize the patients from the previous week into a reasonable arrangement on the following days – reasonable, at least, in Dale’s terms, which Isadore was beginning to question if they could fit into general human capacities of how much work a single person could get done in a day.

He took out a blank page and copied down the names of the patients as quickly as he could, and proceeded to check each of their files in the cabinet, categorizing the members of the list into more urgent cases, and the ones who’d most likely just be stopping by for a regular visit or a follow-up appointment. He scurried back upstairs just as he heard the door to Dale’s office clicking open. 

A few minutes passed before another patient seemed to enter, coming in from the outside, but before Isadore could make his way back downstairs and continue with his plan, he heard Joan’s voice coming from the tiny hall.

“Are you going out?” He turned back and saw the girl by the door to her bedroom, resting slightly against the frame. There was no clear indication of whether she was confronting him or not, so he figured it was best to be honest and nodded in response.

She went back into her room, returning after a few moments with a scarf on her hands, which she quickly wrapped around Isadore’s neck. “You should get a warmer coat also”, she said, disappearing into Dale’s room and coming back with a heavy woolen jacket over her arm. “Dale won’t mind if you borrow this. The storm’s passed, but it’s still cold out.”

“Thank you”, Isadore stuttered, putting on the jacket. “Do you think it’ll be long before Dale comes back upstairs?" 

“It’s flu season”, she said with a tiny shrug. “He’d stay down there all night long if he could.”

Isadore nodded. “I might be gone for a while myself, but I’ll come back before tonight.”

“Can I ask where you’re going?”

He paused. “Just around town”, he said, and headed off.

The cold wind hit his body as he stepped outside, making him realize how long it’d been since he was surrounded with anything but warmth. He hugged his own chest, grasping the sides of the jacket. There was no snow, but the ground had several patches covered in ice, and heavy clouds loomed overhead. He pulled out the file from his pocket.

After compiling his list, Isadore had written down the addresses of each non-urgent patient from their files, and now tried to map out a route to all houses in his mind. He was still a bit new to the town’s layout, but knew his way across the main streets just fine, even because there weren’t all that many to begin with. As he approached what he believed to be the region where the first name lived, a few directions from friendly passers-by were enough for him to find the building in question.

The debatable legality of what he was doing only really hit him as he was standing by the stranger’s doorstep waiting for them to answer to his shaky knocks, and he repressed those thoughts as soon as they popped into his mind. That was a level of stress he did not feel good about adding to his situation, seeing how most of his concerns were already focusing on the subject of anxiety.

The fact remained that Isadore still wasn’t a people person – and now, seeing how he’d just spent almost a week uttering about five sentences a day, all of which were directed solely at his brother, he couldn’t help but wonder if he still remembered how to talk to another human being.

Upon being greeted by the house owner, however, all it took was a brief explanation on how he was trying to better organize Dale’s schedule to make up for the week of cancelled appointments, and he was greeted with the greatest admiration for the hard work of kind doctor Hastor, as well as the willingness to do anything they could to help with the cause. 

The same pattern was found in all other houses Isadore visited. Each town member seemed to have their own personal story on how Dale saved either them or someone they hold dear, and how thankful they were for everything the doctor had done for the community. Isadore shared his own experience on how Dale had tirelessly nursed him back to health, and was always met with sympathetic nods and even more comments on the doctor Hastor’s generosity. It was clear just how much Dale’s presence meant for the town, so much so that the idea of their doctor spending over a week helping a newcomer recover from a serious illness was completely plausible, even with no one knowing the patient in question was actually the doctor’s brother.

The sun had already gone down by the time Isadore walked back home. He saw Dale’s previous patient leaving the house just a few minutes before he walked in. He sat in the waiting room waiting for his brother to come out, and was taken aback by how different things were since he last sat on those same wooden chairs. His lungs were no longer having a fit, and even if they did, he wouldn’t be overcome by a crushing need to hide it. Those same walls, which felt aggressive and imposing before, now seemed to share with him the same feelings of comfort they once denied him, and the world that lied beyond the staircase had been his home for the past several days.

Isadore rose from his chair as Dale opened the door to his office, looking around confusedly.

“Have you seen Mrs. Crane?”, he asked. “She’s up next, I figured she would’ve arrived by now.”

“Yes”, Isadore said. “I have seen her, actually. Earlier this morning.”

“You ran into her?" 

“Yes. I mean, sort of. I went to talk to her. And the rest of your patients. Or at least most of them.” Dale raised an eyebrow. Isadore realized how weird his words sounded. He wished he’d rehearsed this talk in his head a bit more before going through with it. “Here”, he said, handing Dale the file he’d been carrying. “I fixed your schedule.” Dale scanned through the document as Isadore continued. “I spoke to them about rescheduling their appointments, and they were all glad to help. I also checked in with the people you were supposed to be seeing tomorrow. You seem to take about thirty minutes with each patient, so I gave each appointment a forty-minute slot just to be safe, and it also leaves you with a bigger window to deal with emergency cases. Either way, you shouldn’t need to come down to your office too early, and you get to leave by the time night falls, so you don’t get too overworked. The less urgent patients were pushed later in the month, so you can focus on those who were affected the most by the missing week for now, but I can talk to them again for you if you feel like I made a mistake in thinking they could wait that long.”

“When did you do all this?” asked Dale, lifting his eyes from the sheet for the first time.

“This morning”, shrugged Isadore, “and most of the afternoon.”

“Why?”

“Joan said you’ve been working really hard, and I knew your schedule would be messier than ever now that I’ve made you cancel a whole week’s worth of appointments… And I figured you’d be too busy to sort it out by yourself, so I thought you could use the help." 

Dale looked at the file again, and then back at Isadore. “Thank you”, he said, his voice sounding as light as a sigh, but still heavily loaded with appreciation. Isadore felt himself blush.

“It’s the least I could do”, he said, looking away from Dale’s eyes. “Besides, I still need to talk to the rest of your patients from this week. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

Dale nodded, placing the file under his arm. “You were out all day?”

“Ah, yes, but I came back to have lunch with Joan in the afternoon.” He held on to the sleeves on his jacket, smiling at Dale. “Hope you don’t mind me borrowing your coat.”

“Not at all”, said Dale, stepping closer to his brother. “I’m just concerned at how you spent the whole day out in the cold." 

“I felt better this morning, I figured I’d be alright." 

Dale brushed Isadore’s hair as he placed a hand on the other’s forehead, coming even closer. Isadore tried to blink away, but couldn’t help but stare back at Dale’s eyes.

“You’re a little feverish”, Dale said in a low, tender voice.

Isadore blinked. “If you say so”, he said in response, with a smile that grew so naturally onto his lips he didn’t even realize it. 

Dale nodded, bringing his hand to the side of Isadore’s face and keeping it there for a short moment, only to then hold on to his brother’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “You must be tired from today”, he said with the same caring tone. “I want you resting until tomorrow.”

Isadore nodded, bringing their faces even closer, not realizing there was any space left until he eliminated it. He felt Dale’s lips touching his for a second, making him smile even wider, and hide his face on his brother’s shoulder in a flustered reflex. 

They headed upstairs.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

By the time Isadore woke up, the sun hadn’t come up yet.

It wasn’t that uncommon for it to happen. Over the years, he’d become more used to going to bed when the sun was rising rather than when it fell beyond the horizon – it felt almost natural for him to be awake at that time, somehow. Even now, despite his extended stay at the Hastors’, he still hadn’t been able to shake off that habit completely.

It was the same thing with falling asleep; Dale made sure they went to bed at a reasonable hour, especially now that his schedule had been fixed, but Isadore would find himself lying awake for hours before actually managing to get his brain to shut down, not to mention the times where he woke up in the middle of the night. 

On that matter, Dale seemed to be the cure – as well, in a way, as the cause. Whenever Isadore’s insomnia started to act up again, he’d turn to his brother, lying next to him on their bed, and try to focus all his attention on his sleeping figure. It seemed to be the only thing that could tune out the thousands of thoughts spinning through his restless head, the only way for him to truly rest; and, for that very reason, Isadore would try to make the moment last for as much time as he could, forcing himself to stay awake even longer, afraid that he’d never have an opportunity like that again.

They’d been sleeping side by side ever since the time Isadore got sick; even though his illness went away, the brothers’ arrangement hadn’t. After Isadore had fixed Dale’s schedule as best as he could that first day, he went out again on the following morning to sort out the remaining patients for the week, and by the time he’d come to an agreement with all names on his list, he’d gone too far into the business to stop. Besides, Dale seemed thankful for the help, and even more so for his brother’s presence in his life.

Isadore had obtained Jacob’s permission to work from Dr. Hastor’s office instead of his previous lodgings. A simple desk near the file cabinets was all he needed. He now carried the work of both secretary and accountant – the first didn’t take too much of his time, and the latter left him with enough of an interval to manage the first. Truth was, he was more than a little overqualified for the job that had brought him to the town in the first place, but he’d always known that. In any case, it allowed him to help Dale out, and for that he was extremely grateful. The fact that he’d moved in with the rest of his family as he carried out their new scheme was also something he was thankful for, even more than he could express.

No one seemed to bat an eye at their new arrangement; most people probably figured it was Isadore’s way of repaying Dale for looking after him when he was sick, still relying on the narrative relating to the doctor’s kindness rather than any possible hidden family ties. Dale hadn’t told anyone they were brothers, and Isadore didn’t have a reason to do it either, despite no longer feeling the need to hide.

Maybe it was best if people didn’t know. He wouldn’t want them to start questioning why he hadn’t said anything when he first arrived in town. He didn’t have enough confidence to come up with a convincing story to explain it, and didn’t want to discuss the truth either – even because he hadn’t even talked about it with Dale himself.

He preferred not to think about what it meant, but deep down the silence still bothered him, and he knew it was his fault. He was the one who’d left, and later pretended things were fine when they were not. He had no right to drag Dale into a discussion he didn’t even have the guts to carry out on the first place. There were so many things inside his chest, twisting and turning and crushing him from the inside, that he was sure the best course of action was to never let them see the light of day, for the results could be disastrous if he did.

It was easy to ignore these thoughts as he kept busy during work, but when the night came along, they all took over his head just as darkness took over the streets. Every day it became harder not to say anything, and every day he got more and more used to that dreadful feeling.

Being with Dale was the only thing that could mute it. His current presence made Isadore forget the years he’d spent in his absence; Dale’s voice made Isadore forget he’d ever known the loneliness that hid within silence; Dale’s eyes seemed to carry the answers for questions Isadore hadn’t even been able to come up with yet; and as they went to sleep, Dale would wrap his arms around Isadore, keeping him safe and close, making him certain, even for just an instant, that nothing bad could ever come to them, as long as they stay like that.

Those were the moments that kept Isadore going, and he cherished every single one of them. Being welcomed back into his family was a blessing he thought he’d never receive, even though the reasons for that were entirely his fault; however, just as he’d been given such a gift, it could be taken from him at any second. In fact, he was certain it would be. It was part of his nature, ruining things like that. It was why he left in the first place, and why he still wondered if staying was really such a good idea.

Dale would never understand it. In a way, that’s why he couldn’t talk about those things with him. Dale had always been the best one at coping; meanwhile, Isadore couldn’t even deal with the messes he created himself, let alone things that were out of his control. He knew it would only be a matter of time until he made things worse back when their parents died. Dale already had so much to deal with. Isadore couldn’t bear the thought of being yet another burden on his brother’s shoulders.

He wasn’t ready, and he’d never be ready. All he ever seemed to do was make things worse, and the only reason as to why he’d never caused any permanent damage was because Dale had always been there to fix what Isadore had broken. It wasn’t fair, he couldn’t let it keep on happening; but at the same time he had no idea of how to improve. The only way to stop things from getting worse was removing himself from the equation altogether.

That’s what he told himself every day while he was away – it was the best possible solution. He’d make his siblings’ lives easier just by not being there to make them more difficult. Joan would have an actual role model to look after, instead of following the same cursed path that led Isadore to become what he was, and Dale wouldn’t have to constantly worry about damage control. Living alone, and keeping his distance; as long as he focused on that, no harm could be done.

He knew that if Dale ever heard him say those thoughts out loud, he’d tell Isadore they were lies – and, for many years, a part of Isadore wondered if Dale was right. It felt almost selfish to hope so. However, once he saw the life his brother had built for himself and his sister on that small town, he knew he’d made the right choice in staying away. The townsfolk’s admiration for Dale was impressive to say the least, not that it came as any surprise to Isadore, and Joan had become such a remarkable young woman he had trouble believing she was still a teenager.

What worried him the most, however, wasn’t exactly how well his family had managed without him. He’d already accepted the truth in that reality, just as he’d always known none of that could’ve been achieved had he chosen to remain a part of their lives. The real question lied in how much trouble he’d cause them now that he’d come back, and Isadore knew the answer wasn’t one that he wanted to hear.

It was selfish to return now. He knew that. The fact that he’d chosen to do it was only made worse by how, instead of retreating back into solitude once he’d discovered how well his siblings had been doing, he just seemed to be getting closer and closer to them with each passing day. He ached for their company; he always had, even while he was away. Distance never made things easier on him, and he wasn’t strong enough to take it. Staying was a coward’s choice, harmful to all parties involved except for him. Now that he’d returned, he knew he couldn’t go back to how lonely he was before.

There was no actual progress, only a disastrous course of inertia. Deep down, he’d never healed, and knew he never would. He needed to get out before someone else got harmed in the process.

As that new stream of thoughts flooded his head on that morning, Isadore turned to the space where Dale usually lied, but his brother was nowhere to be found. Still lost in a confused sleepy haze, he got out of bed and followed the noises he’d just heard from the kitchen, only to find Dale removing a fresh pie from the oven.

“Quite the unusual time for baking”, Isadore said, smiling from the doorframe.

“Did I wake you?” asked Dale, resting the pie on top of the kitchen counter.

Isadore shook his head. “I woke up on my own.”

“Ah. Same here.”

“Unlike you, though, my reaction isn’t to turn to baking when that happens.” He sat on one of the chairs by the table.

Dale laughed. “This used to be the time I usually got up at. I’d tackle some house chores before going down to the office, since I wouldn’t have much time at night either.” He cut a slice from the pie and set it in front of Isadore. “I suppose I’m still getting used to the new improved schedule.”

“Can’t say I’m complaining”, remarked Isadore, watching the steam rise from his plate.

Dale pulled up a chair next to him, holding a slice for himself. “You really shouldn’t be, because it’s your favorite”, he smiled. 

Isadore blinked. He couldn’t believe Dale remembered, even after all this time. The fact that he did made Isadore’s insides feel as sweet as the pie’s mixed berry filling, with his face probably turning just as red. He took a bite out of the steaming slice.

“Careful, it’s still hot!” warned Dale.

Isadore laughed, feeling his mouth burn in the best possible way, his mind overtaken by memories of him also biting into that very same pie before it had a chance to cool off countless times in the past. “It is.” He couldn’t stop smiling. “Did you use the same recipe?!”

Dale nodded, smiling back. “Same as back then.”

Isadore’s heart was filled with nostalgia. Even the house smelled the same. He remembered how he never really saw any fun in cooking as a kid, but Dale was always eager to help their mother out in the kitchen. As a child, he never would’ve thought there’d come a day where he’d be deprived of his family’s pies – and now as an adult, he could barely believe he’d gotten the chance to enjoy them again. 

“I’ve missed this”, he said. 

Dale stared deeply into his brother’s eyes, squeezing his hand gently. “Me too”, he said, his voice carrying a smile much wider than any face could show.

Isadore brought Dale’s hand closer to his face. “It’s been so long”, the words came out in a single flow, before he even realized he wanted to say them. “Way too long”. They just kept coming. He turned Dale’s palm towards him, slowly kissing the tips of each of his fingers, one by one. He guided that same hand towards his hair, and felt Dale sweep it back, pulling him closer.

Dale’s lips brushed against his; softly at first, but with each kiss growing increasingly more intense, until their mouths were almost completely merged, leaving Isadore feeling both breathless and convinced that he hadn’t been truly breathing until that very moment. He grabbed Dale’s arm, pulling him in for an even closer embrace, erasing all remaining distance between them, and all thoughts from his mind.

By the time Isadore returned to his slice of pie, it had cooled off completely.

But the thoughts came back eventually, and he could no longer afford to pretend he didn’t know what he had to do.

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

When Isadore sent his brother a timid smile from the other side of the table after sipping his tea, Dale realized he’d been staring at him for a long time now. He smiled back and quickly shifted his attention to the window, watching the heavy snowflakes fall through the night sky. It had been snowing since the beginning of the week, and it didn’t look like the weather was about to get any warmer.

Usually, as the winter season progressed, he’d also see an increase on the number of emergency cases that came to this office. He’d go through countless sleepless nights trying to handle them all at once, earning the town’s eternal gratitude. Now, however, he was starting to understand just how harmful that work ethic was for his own health, and how he’d needed to take a step back from the chaos in order to realize it was possible to control it.

He had his brother to thank for that. Despite the turbulent beginning to their reunion, the level of stability Isadore had brought into his life was astonishing, and felt like the three remaining Hastors had grown much closer as a family. As he observed the tiny bits of frost starting to form at the edges of the glass, his chest was engulfed by a feeling of absolute warmth, just by thinking of how glad he was that Isadore was currently sharing a cup of tea with him within the shelter of their home, instead of facing the freezing outside weather alone. 

That was only part of the reason why he’d been staring, however. The rest of it resided in the unexplainable feeling that something was… _off._ He wished he had some degree of understanding why, or a concrete piece of evidence to point at, but he had nothing. There was only an instinct, a looming question mark with no actual question behind it, and he pursued it with the same success as someone trying to identify what was the color of the air that surrounded them.

He wanted to say Isadore looked tired, and there’d be reasons to say so. His brother had just spent the past days working harder than ever, pushing himself to get as much work done as possible, as well as explaining to Dale in detail how his scheduling system works – even though Dale had already caught the gist of it, after weeks of seeing it in action. He wished he could point at the overall collection of these moments and say they’d been responsible for Isadore’s stress, only his brother didn’t actually seem stressed. If anything, he looked surprisingly well.

As much as Dale didn’t want to admit it, maybe there really wasn’t a reason behind his impression. It could be just his mind trying to readapt to the concept of change – he’d spent so long living life without any major developments, ever since he’d settled on that small town with Joan, that he’d almost forgotten what change felt like; until, of course, it hit him like a freight train. He was lucky a _feeling_ had been its worst side effect. 

And, he had to face it, a lot had changed, and the overwhelming majority had been for the better. Again, he had his brother to thank for – even if it hadn’t all been directly his doing. To Dale, it was almost redundant to say how happy he was for Isadore’s return, and how it seemed to fill a hole in his heart he’d been growing more and more tired of pretending it wasn’t empty. It was the little moments that really got to him, like the one he found himself currently sharing in their cozy kitchen, slowly gathering and enveloping his whole being, much like the increasing heaps of snow outside were once tiny, individual snowflakes.

And still, something felt off.

He finished the tea from his own cup, setting his dishes inside the sink. “I’m heading to bed”, he said, turning around and facing his brother.

Isadore, however, stared at the space right in front of him at the table. “Ok”, he said, lifting his teacup close to his face, the steam rising in front of his eyes. “I think I’ll stay up a while longer”. He sipped his tea.

Dale hesitated. “I guess I won’t wait up, then”, he suggested, like the answer to a question he couldn’t ask. He paused for another moment, only to walk towards the door. “Just try not to go to sleep too late.”

“Wait.” The sound of Isadore’s voice made Dale halt immediately, almost holding his breath. “Just… stay here for a bit”, he said, a lot more softly, his face still somewhat hidden behind his raised cup, meeting his brother’s eyes as the other turned around to face him.

Dale nodded gently, making his way back to the table. Isadore rested the teacup in front of him, standing up in a slow, yet eager motion. Dale took one last step towards him, lingering a bit, every muscle on his body telling him to come even closer. Luckily, Isadore proceeded to cancel out their shared distance, taking Dale’s face between his hands, pulling him in for a kiss.

It was then that Dale felt all the intangible feelings of uncertainty that plagued him disappear, slipping away from his mind as he held on to Isadore’s body, running his hands across the other’s back, feeling the intensity of his brother’s touch against his own skin. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, or even their first time kissing, and yet Dale knew he’d never experienced anything like it. 

Isadore was as affectionate as usual, but there was something new about him. It felt inviting, and welcoming, and downright _fearless_. No matter how close the two of them had gotten over the past weeks, Dale couldn’t help but feel like his brother always carried a hint of anxiety with him, present in his every move, and every tender kiss. Now, however, he felt as if Isadore had really opened up, sharing a side of himself that up to that point had remained unseen – more than that, it encouraged Dale to do the same.

Isadore took a step back, separating the two again, and smiled at his brother. Dale smiled back, holding Isadore’s hand for a minute, hoping his eyes could express what words could not.

He relived their kiss in his head as he lied down to sleep, thinking about how eagerly he wanted to pursue Isadore’s invitation. He wondered how many other positive changes could possibly lie ahead of them, and dozed off knowing that he’d welcome them all, as long as he still had his brother by his side.

What he didn’t know, however, is that he’d been just kissed goodbye.

 

~

 

Twenty aspirin tablets, and another three for good measure. Good luck. Anything good. Isadore washed them down with the rest of the tea in groups of two, taking the odd one out on its own. Each scratched his throat and sunk heavily to his stomach, though it was no match for the weight crushing his heart.

It was more due to the anxiety of waiting rather than any sort of fear or regret. The decision to do it had been made several days ago, except only now that he’d followed through with it it’d become officially final. He knew what the consequences would be, and hoped that they would arrive, but what really made him uneasy was how he didn’t know when it would happen, exactly. He only knew it was unlikely to fail – after all, Dale was his source on the matter, and Dale was never wrong.

Isadore didn’t want to die indoors. He’d caused enough harm as it was, he didn’t need to turn the house into a reminder of his fate. It was probably already haunted enough from his bedbound sick week already, and how he’d disrupted the peace that had reigned on that home until that point. Whichever room he chose would forever serve as a prison for his memory, eternally marked, and nothing about him was ever supposed to last. 

He had a rather easy time sneaking out, considering how both his siblings were fast asleep. He wondered if Dale would’ve confronted him had he been awake, seeing how he’d never tried that strategy on Joan – the difference, however, was that Joan had enough common sense not to put her safety at risk, and Dale never really had to lecture her on that regard. If his brother were to question him, Isadore wouldn’t know what to say. He never really did. He was in the wrong, and he knew it. There was nothing Dale could say to him that he didn’t already think of himself, and with much harsher loathing.

He wondered if he would’ve left if Dale had caught him doing it all those years ago. Much like now, silence was his ally. He knew what he was doing, and he knew he was the only one who could understand it. He was better off gone, and was lucky enough to realize that for himself before someone had to spell it out for him. It might as well be the only type of knowledge he’d managed to acquire before Dale, or even Joan, for that matter. It was easier to stand his ground when the only person he had to convince was himself.

Aside from a few remaining snowflakes finishing off the previous storm, all was still. There was no wind, no sound, no movement. No presence. Just as the heaps of snow would disappear by the end of winter, Isadore himself would fade into mere thought, and be gone from everyone’s mind as soon as the first days of spring reminded them of the warmth and life that could thrive without him.

If he hadn’t left in the past, Dale most likely never would’ve moved to this town, and never would’ve become the beloved doctor he now was. Isadore’s absence had allowed him to grow and move forward, as well as raise his sister without any major setbacks. Joan had become so much like him that her future success was undoubtable, even more so if she were to continue to live under the same favorable conditions that had gotten her that far. Isadore had never been an essential part of the process – and, as far as he knew, his removal was actually the key to its success.

The snow glistened into the night as if it was made of stardust. Isadore couldn’t help but be grateful that the last thing he’d see would be something so beautiful. He opened and closed his hands, staring at his trembling fingers, realizing that they must be freezing, but not actually feeling it. It seemed beyond him, somehow. He must’ve been walking for an hour now, and no news had developed in terms of when the aspirin would actually cause him any damage. The anticipation was nauseating – but that was about the only thing he felt.

He didn’t know why he’d come back. He’d never really allowed himself to question it, much like he preferred not to think about it while he was tracking Dale down, or when he first sent his job application. He ignored the question when he was informed he’d been picked as the new accountant, and when he first moved into town.

It was selfish, and he knew it far too well. He knew his family could only win without him. Seeing them now only confirmed his assumptions. He couldn’t keep on using them to fill the hole in his chest that he’d been cursed with, and that they’d been spared of. He couldn’t rely on Dale to look after him. It was unfair, it was mean, it was greedy – it was poison. It would drag him down. It would ruin Joan along with it. Isadore had already caused too much harm. Damage control would only get them so far. He needed to get rid of the cause completely.

Isadore stopped his aimless walk through the snow, feeling his stomach turn. His head was spinning just as hard. He grabbed onto a stoned wall trying to regain his balance, only to realize it was where he and Joan used to meet. He smiled. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily. So that’s what dying felt like. He wished it involved less nausea. He couldn’t tell where the ground lied anymore.

He threw up into the snow. He was shaking. He could no longer feel his body. His hand slipped from the wall and he fell to his knees, and then collapsed onto the icy ground.

For a second, he felt cold.

And then didn’t feel anything at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Isadore woke up.

That fact alone took him a while to understand. It wasn’t right. That was the exact opposite of how it was supposed to go. His body no longer felt his – he was a ghost, only unreleased. He no longer belonged to that reality. He’d followed the instructions. He’d felt the process unravel. He should be dead and cold by now.

Instead, he felt the weight of the blankets against his body, and the warmth of shelter surrounding his skin. The air he breathed no longer carried the sting of frost, but instead the smell of the place he’d once longed to call home.

Something had gone wrong.

He looked to his side, moving a head that no longer felt like part of him, bones and muscle that now merely composed a machine he tried to control instead of a real body. He saw Dale sitting on a chair by the side of the bed, his back arched forward, elbows resting on his knees, his face hidden between his hands. He looked relaxed, but not naturally – it was a lack of strength derived from exhaustion, a wish to look tenser, but which could not be granted. 

And still, the first words Isadore said, in a voice that to him sounded as familiar as any stranger’s, carrying no hint of emotion, were “You lied.”

Dale looked up at him, in a jolt so tired it could never be described as sudden. His eyes were red and carried deep, darkened circles around them. He sighed heavily. “Of course I lied”, he said, straightening his back. “It’s a good thing that I did, too.” He would’ve sounded angry if he still had the energy to.

Isadore blinked. He figured he should feel guilty about failing and causing even more trouble for his brother. He always felt terrible when Dale scolded him. Or maybe he should be angry that he’d been lied to, as if his brother placed so little faith in him that he knew Isadore would inevitably try to kill himself. It was just one of the many things that Dale was right about.

However, Isadore felt nothing.

No weight on his chest. No tears behind his eyes. No spark to his voice.

He sat up, still trying to get a grip on where exactly his limbs ended. He looked at his own hands as they held on to the blankets, gently running his fingers against the soft fabric. They felt stiff, almost distant, but he at least knew how to move them.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this”, groaned Dale. Isadore turned back at him. Dale rubbed his face with his hands, tilting his head backwards. He fixed his posture, glaring straight into Isadore’s eyes. “What on Earth were you thinking?” His voice sounded low and drained, but carried all the force of a scream.

Isadore felt a shiver run through his spine, but could only stare blankly in response. The closest thing he could come to an answer was a shrug, but even that felt too expressive.

“I thought I was doing something right for once”, continued Dale, leaning into his knees again. “By bringing you in, and having you stay, I…” He lowered his face, facing the floor. “I don’t get it.” There was anger in his tone. A lot of it. 

“Ah”, Isadore said. “I shouldn’t have let myself become a burden.”

“Don’t you dare say something like that”, Dale stared back at him, somehow sounding even angrier. “What do you _want_ , Isadore? Why did you even come back?”

“I don’t know.” 

“Did you plan this? Did you come back only to say goodbye?” His voice was a bit louder than before. Isadore wondered how long it’d be until it escalated into him being actually yelled at.

“I don’t know”, he repeated. “I didn’t have a plan.”

“I thought you would at least stick around, but you just kept on getting _sicker_.” Dale held out his hands in front of him, as if he were crushing an invisible object. “I thought I was doing a good thing in taking care of you. I thought I could prevent this. The one cursed path I was trying to avoid.”

No, Isadore thought, that last sentence makes no sense. Him leaving isn’t the cursed path, him _staying_ is. That was the thing Dale failed to understand. However, at the same time, Isadore couldn’t defend the idea either. He’d never been the smart one. “It was a good thing”, he heard himself saying, somehow going against his argument; and yet, it felt real, as tangible as all hidden truths tend to be. He thought of Dale carrying him to bed, and hugging Isadore back when the latter couldn’t sleep, and of their shared kisses and silent late night glances; and how all those things made him whole, leaving him with an undeniable feeling that they were, in fact, _good_ – but they were also unilateral. It was unfair to depend on his brother that badly when Dale himself would be better off without Isadore causing so much suffering. “I’m sorry I made you worry.” 

“Of course I worry”, exclaimed Dale. “You’re my brother, for crying out loud!”

“I know.” It only made things worse, having them bound by blood. A link Dale would never be able to cut, even if he wanted to. “I just wish you didn’t have to.”

“You make it hard not to, I’ll give you that.” He sounded sarcastic, but still filled with rage. “You don’t usually expect to wake up with a desperate knock on your door telling you that the new accountant has been found passed out in a hypothermic state before the sun has even had a chance to rise!” 

“Sorry”, Isadore said, wishing there was a way to sound less numb.

“I mean, did you even consider how this would affect us?” Dale raised his voice once again. His hands were shaking. He placed them against his knees and stood up. “Leaving me behind – leaving your sister behind?! We’re your _family_ , and you just walked away!”

“You were doing fine on your own before I showed up-”

“I’m not talking about last night”, Dale interrupted him, with a crack to his voice, looking away. “I’m talking about when you left.”

“…Oh”, Isadore said. He felt his hands twitching. He hid them under the blankets. 

“You just… left”, Dale said in a much softer tone. “You are my brother, and you left. We needed you, and you left.”

Isadore stayed silent. 

“I still don’t understand it”, he continued, his voice nearly a whisper. “How could you do it?”

“I had to leave.”

“No, you chose to.” Dale turned back and faced him, meeting Isadore’s nebulous eyes with a cold, angry stare. “You made a choice, and I couldn’t choose!” He paused, taking a deep, shaky breath. “You chose to go away and live off on you own, and I was forced to make that same decision. You left me no option but to deal with it – with how I was alone now, and how there was nothing I could do about it. How I no longer had you by my side.” He crossed his arms, clinging on to his sweater with tense, trembling fingers. “You forced me to live with a choice I _never_ would’ve made, and every day I had to wake up and face the fact that you had chosen to leave.”

Isadore breathed in, rhythmically, mechanically, with lungs that still didn’t feel his, as he listened to words that felt like anything but real.

“I never wanted to live in a world where you weren’t by my side”, Dale carried on. “The mere thought of it was unbearable. And if anything were to force me to live in such a world, I never would’ve guessed it’d be you. By choosing loneliness, you made loneliness choose me.” He sighed. “It was _cruel_ , Isadore. It was cruel of you to leave me in the dark.” 

Isadore named arguments in his head. Explanations as to why it was best for him to leave. Anything that could justify it.

But even when writing down several imaginary lists, he still felt void of reason.

“I searched for you”, Dale furrowed his brow, suddenly sounding a lot more mad instead of just sorrowful. “I asked about you, looked for your name. Joan and I, we went from town to town – we just wanted to see you again, to have you back. And I think, somehow, the search kept us going.” He nearly smiled. “There was still hope of finding you, somewhere. Our parents, they… They were gone for good, but you were still out there. We just had to knock on the right door, or cross the right street, and we’d find you again.” His face went back to being absolutely serious. “But we never did. We couldn’t keep living in a dream; I had to take care of what little family I had left. Joan needed something real, and I…” He looked away. “I had to learn to live with your choice. I had to learn to live without you.” 

Isadore felt his skin turn very cold, as if he was about to faint. He rested against the headboard, keeping the same vague look to his eyes.

“It took me years to learn how to cope; and whenever I thought of you, I realized I hadn’t learned a thing.” Dale’s voice started to trail off, as if he was talking to himself. “Did you ever feel anything like it? Your chest aching, as if your heart had been ripped out of your body. And your head hurts just from thinking about it, but those thoughts are the very thing that can make the aching stop. It’s almost like… going blind, somehow, even though you can still see. A craving you know you are so far from silencing you feel guilty for even having it in the first place. Did you ever feel it, while you were away?” And he added, in a nearly inaudible whisper, “Did you even miss me?”

Isadore wanted to scream, to say that yes, he’d missed him, he’d missed Dale every day of his life, and continued to miss him even now, as they stood in the same room. Somewhere, deep inside his body, although it still didn’t feel like he inhabited it properly, he felt that very same pain, an insatiable, unstoppable aching; a longing so deep it transcended senses and memory.

But he stayed silent.

“And when you came back, I almost couldn’t believe it!” Dale chuckled, but his eyes were full of grief. “To see you, alive, _living_ , after all those years! It almost seemed too good to be true!” He smiled, a grin so distorted by misery it no longer carried any shard of happiness. “And you wouldn’t talk to me. You came back to us, only to ignore us. Having you work across the street, but knowing you remained as distant as if you still lied halfway across the country. It might as well be the meanest joke I’ve ever heard.”

Even now, Isadore felt that same distance between them. Knowing he’d been the one responsible for it only made it wider.

“How could you be fine with it?” Dale was still smiling, his question carrying no sarcasm or rhetoric, only baffled curiosity and confusion. “Living apart like that, even when being so close. Leaving your family behind. Actively choosing loneliness.” His voice sounded utterly innocent. “How did you do it? How could you live with it”, he asked, though it barely sounded like a question, “while to me it felt so painful it was as if my very soul was being crushed.”

“I’m sorry”, Isadore said, though actually getting himself to externalize those words was nearly impossible. “I never meant to cause so much pain by leaving, I…” This throat felt blocked by years of shame and misery, a life he thought he was irredeemably destined to live. “It was the very thing I was trying to avoid.”

Dale paused, barely breathing. “Did you really think so little of yourself to assume it would work?” His tone still carried the same bewilderment, as if the mere concept of anger now eluded him. “Did you really think so little of _us_ , to assume we would agree with you?”

Isadore shook his head. “It’s not thinking too little, it’s the other way around.” He still hadn’t quite figured out how to convey actual emotion with his words. They spilled out from his mouth like lead. “After our parents died, I realized I’d run out of time to learn to be better. I couldn’t keep on being a burden to you, or relying on you being there to pick me up. I only would’ve stayed in your way.” His fingers fidgeted with the blankets once more, though now, for the first time, they actually felt like his own. He looked down at them. “I couldn’t have stayed, not with the way that I was. I knew you and Joan would’ve been better off without me.” He felt the corners of his mouth curl up into a subtle smile. “And now that I’ve come back, I see that it is still true.”

There was silence. Isadore kept on staring at his own hands, watching as they played with the threads of the covers. He didn’t even have to brace himself for another scolding, since he’d already accepted the fact that it was inevitable. He brought nothing but storm and destruction, and no amount of talks could take that away from him.

However, instead of yelling, Dale’s voice stayed at a low, shaky tone, sounding utterly heartbroken as he asked “How could you say that?” Isadore turned to face him, only to see his entire posture had been dismantled. Dale’s arms hung low and defeated by the sides of his body, removing the shield they once represented in front of his chest, which now stood barren and defenseless. A single tear ran down his cheek, though his face showed no emotion. “How could this possibility have even crossed your mind?”

Isadore felt the blood draining from his own face, all heat leaving his body. “You seemed fine”, he said. “That’s why I kept my distance, even as I came back. It felt wrong to disrupt it.”

Dale’s shoulders started to tremble. He knelt down by the side of the bed, looking up at his brother. His breathing quivered, as if he was about to say something, but he remained silent. Isadore stared back at him, not knowing if he’d ever be able to speak again himself.

“Being without you”, Dale finally said, “is torture.”

Isadore blinked, feeling his head starting to spin.

“I love you, Isadore”, he continued. “I need you to be a part of my life.” More tears rolled down Dale’s face. “Those years we spent away from each other, I… I would relive them, every single one of them, if I could go through them again with you. Being away from you was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. Joan and I didn’t make it this far because you were gone, we made it _in spite of it_.”

Isadore had to be dead, still. There was no way this was real.

“I kept on living because I knew you were still out there, but if you were gone…” Dale stared down, unblinkingly. His shaky hands tensely held on to the bed. “I don’t… I can’t take it. It would destroy me.” He sobbed, hiding his face against the mattress. Isadore blinked, realizing he’d started to cry as well. He lifted a hesitant hand from the blankets and placed it against Dale’s, softly touching the other’s fingers. Dale grabbed on to it with an amount of strength Isadore didn’t know his brother had left. 

“I’m sorry I went away”, Isadore said, meaning both the time he did leave and the time he failed to do so. He didn’t know what else to say, even if he still felt the pain of a thousand unsaid words burning down his throat.

Dale lifted his head up, staring at Isadore with the same force as with which he held on to the other’s hand. “I need you to stay”, he said with a heavy, collected tone. “I need to be with you, for as long as you want to stay with me as well.” 

“That is all I could ever wish for”, responded Isadore, not knowing if he sounded as if he were laughing or crying – either way, it was, at last, some sort of emotion.

Dale placed Isadore’s palm against his cheek, still holding on to his hand. Isadore lifted Dale’s head and stared at his brother’s longing eyes, though his own vision was blurred by the continuous flow of tears. Dale lifted himself from the floor and sat by the edge of the bed, leaning closer to his brother.

Isadore buried his face on Dale’s chest, breathing in deep for the first time ever since waking up – and, once Dale hugged him back, Isadore understood what it really meant to be alive again.

 


	14. Chapter 14

As the snow melted away, time brought greener meadows, glistening through warmer days. The townsfolk still commented on how it’d been one of the coldest winters they could remember, even as they basked in the sunlight brought by spring.

Isadore watched the wind shake the vigorous nearby trees from the kitchen window, their carried branches mashing into one huge splash of color, knowing that the currents no longer brought storms, but merely the very natural concept of movement. 

He felt it too, even as he set perfectly still – the swirling of feelings inside him, notions of love and comfort, trust and fear, strength and vulnerability, knowing them to be just as legitimate and inevitable, just as certain as the return of spring.

Sometimes, he still felt them rising, tangling up into a stormy mess of despair and doom, trying to convince him that no good could come from them.

He also found that to be inevitable.

But he’d also learned that storms came to pass, and that while they didn’t there would always be shelter – one so strong no hurricanes could knock it down, even from the inside.

He wondered how he’d ever thought he could’ve lived without it. He concluded he’d never really convinced himself that he could.

Dale placed a cup of tea on the table, sitting on the opposite chair. Isadore held the teacup next to his face, smiling at his brother, then turning his attention to the steam rising from the surface.

All was still, and full of movement.

Full of life.

 

 


End file.
